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A CIGARETTE-MAKER’S ROMANCE 


AND 


KHALED 



A CIGARETTE -MAKER’S 
ROMANCE 

AND 

KHALED 




BY 


Fr'^ARION CRAWFORD 


THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 

1901 


All rights reserved 





Copyright, 1890, 1891, 

By F. MARION CRAWFORD. 


Heretofore published separately. New edition in one volume, 
July, -1901. 



NorhJooU ?3re»8 

J. 8. Cuahing i Co. — Berwick Ic Smith 
Norwood Mms. U.S.A. 


A CIGARETTE-MAKER’S ROMANCE 



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55 . 1 ' ? 



A CIGAEETTE-MAKEE’S EOMANCE 


CHAPTER I 

The inner room of a tobacconist’s shop is not perhaps 
the spot which a writer of fiction would naturally choose 
as the theatre of his play, nor does the inventor of pleas- 
ant romances, of stirring incident, or moving love-tales, 
feel himself instinctively inclined to turn to Munich as 
to the city of his dreams. On the other hand, it is by 
no means certain that, if the choice of a stage for our 
performance were offered to the most contented among 
us, we should be satisfied to speak our parts and go 
through our actor’s business upon the boards of this 
world. Some would prefer to take their properties, 
their player’s crowns and robes, their aspiring expres- 
sions and their finely expressed aspirations before the 
audience of a larger planet ; others, perhaps the major- 
ity, would choose, with more humility as well as with 
more common sense, the shadowy scenery, the softer 
footlights and the less exigent public of a modest aste- 
roid, beyond the reach of our earthly haste, of our 
noisy and unclean high-roads to honour, of our furious 
chariot races round the goals of fame, and, especially, 
beyond the reach, of competition. But we have no 
choice. We are in the world and, before we know 


2 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


where we are, we are on one of the paths which we 
must traverse in our few score years between birth and 
death. Moreover, each man’s path leads up to the the- 
atre on the one side, and down from it on the other. 
The inexorable manager. Fate, requires that each should 
go through with his comedy or his drama, if he be 
judged worthy of a leading part, with his scene or his 
act in another man’s piece, if he be fit only to play the 
walking gentleman, the dumb footman, or the mechani- 
cally trained supernumerary who does duty by turns 
as soldier, sailor, courtier, husbandman, conspirator or 
red-capped patriot. A few play well, many play badly, 
all must appear, and the majority are feebly applauded 
and loudly hissed. He counts himself great who is 
received with such an uproar of clapping and shout of 
approval as may drown the voice of the discontented ; 
he is called fortunate who, having missed his cue and 
broken down in his words, makes his exit in the tri- 
umphant train of the greater actor upon whom all eyes 
are turned ; he is deemed happy who, having offended 
no man, is allowed to depart in peace upon his down- 
ward road. Yet none of these players need pride them- 
selves much upon their success nor take to heart their 
failure. Long before most of them have slipped into 
the grave which waits at the foot of the hill, and have 
been wrapped comfortably in the pleasant earth, their 
names are forgotten by those who screamed with pleas- 
ure or hooted in disgust at their performance, their 
faces are no longer remembered, their great drama is 
become an old-fashioned mummery of the past. Why 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


3 


should they care? Their work is done, they have been 
rewarded or punished, paid with praise and gold or 
mulcted in the sum of their reputation and estate. 
Famous or infamous, in honour or in disrepute, in 
riches or in poverty, they have reached the end of their 
time, they are worn out, the world will have no more of 
them, they are worthless in the price-scale of men, they 
must be buried out of sight and they will be forgotten 
out of mind. The beginning is the same for all, and 
the end also, and as for the future, who shall tell us 
upon what basis of higher intelligence our brief passage 
across the stage is to be judged ? Why then should the 
present trouble our vanity so greatly ? And if our play 
is of so little importance, why should we care whether 
the scenery is romantic instead of commonplace, or why 
should we make furious efforts to shift a Gothic castle, 
a drawbridge, a moat and a waterfall into the slides 
occupied by the four walls of a Munich tobacconist’s 
shop ? 

There is not even anything especial in the appearance 
of the place to recommend it to the ready pen of the 
word-painter. It is an establishment of very modest 
pretensions situated in one of the side streets leading 
to a great thoroughfare. As we are in Munich, how- 
ever, the side street is broad and clean, the pavement is 
well swept and the adjoining houses have an air of solid 
respectability and wealth. At the point where the 
street widens to an irregular shape on the downward 
slope there is a neat little iron kiosque completely cov- 
ered with brilliant advertisements, printed in black 


4 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


Gothic letters upon red and yellow paper. The point 
of vivid colour is not disagreeable, for it relieves the neu- 
tral tints of brick and brown stone, and arrests the eye, 
long wearied with the respectable parade of buildings. 
The tobacconist’s sliop is, indeed, the most shabby, or, 
to speak more correctly, the least smartly new among 
its fellow-shops, wherein dwell, in consecutive order, a 
barber, a watchmaker, a pastry-cook, a shoemaker and a 
colourman. In spite of its unattractive exterior, how- 
ever, the establishment of “ Christian Fischelowitz, from 
South Russia,” enjoys a very considerable reputation. 
Within the high, narrow shop, there is good store of 
rare tobaccos, from the mild Kir to the Imperial Sam- 
son, the aromatic Dubec and the pungent Swary. The 
dusty window beside the narrow door exhibits, it is 
true, only a couple of tall, dried tobacco plants set in 
flower-pots, a carelessly arranged collection of cedar and 
pasteboard boxes for cigars and cigarettes, and a fantas- 
tically constructed Swiss cottage, built entirely of cig- 
arettes and fine cut yellow leaf, with little pieces of 
glass set in for windows. This effort of architecture 
is in a decidedly ruinous condition, the little stuffed 
paper cylinders are ragged and torn, some of them 
show signs of detaching themselves from the cardboard 
frame upon which they are pasted, and the dust of 
years has accumulated upon the bit of painted board 
which serves as a foundation for the chalet. In one 
corner of the window an object more gaudy but not 
more useful attracts the eye. It is the popular doll 
figure commonly known in Germany as the “ Wiener 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 5 

Gigerl” or “Vienna fop.” It is doubtful whether any 
person could appear in the public places of Vienna in 
such a costume without being stoned or otherwise 
painfully put to a shameful death. The doll is ar- 
rayed in black shorts and silk stockings, a wide white 
waistcoat, a scarlet evening coat, an enormous collar 
and a white tall hat with a broad brim. He stands 
upon one foot, raising the other as though in the 
act of beginning a minuet ; he holds in one hand a 
stick and in the other a cigarette, a relatively mon- 
strous eye-glass magnifies one of his painted eyes, 
and upon his face is such an expression of combined 
insolence, vulgarity, dishonesty and conceit as would 
insure his being shot at sight in any Western American 
village making the least pretence to self-respect. On 
high days and holidays Christian Fischelowitz inserts 
a key into the square black pedestal whereon the doll 
has its being, and the thing lives and moves, turns about 
and cocks its impertinent head at the passers-by, while 
a feeble tune of uncertain rhythm is heard grating itself 
out upon the teeth of the metal comb in the concealed 
mechanism. Fischelowitz delights in this monstrosity, 
and is never weary of watching its detestable antics. 
It is doubtful whether in the simplicity of his good- 
natured heart he does not really believe that the 
Wiener Gigerl may attract a stray customer to his 
counter and, in the long-run, pay for itself. For it 
cost him money, and in itself, as a thing of beauty, it 
hardly covers the bad debt contracted with him by a 
poor fellow-countryman to whom he kindly lent fifty 


6 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


marks last year. He accepted the doll without a 
murmur, however, in full discharge of the obligation, 
and, with an odd philosophy peculiar to himself, he 
does his best to get what amusement he can out of the 
little red-coated figure without complaining and with- 
out bitterness. 

Christian’s wife, his larger if not his better half, is 
less complacent. In the publicity of the shop her 
small black eyes cast glances full of hate upon the 
innocent Gigerl, her full flat face reddens with anger 
when she remembers the money, and her fat hands 
would dash the insolent little figure into the street, if 
her mercantile understanding did not suggest the pos- 
sibility of ultimately selling it for something. In view 
of such a fortunate contingency, and whenever she is 
alone, she carefully dusts the thing and puts it away 
in the cupboard in the corner, well knowing that 
Fischelowitz will return in an hour, will take it out, set 
it in its place, wind it up and watch its performance 
with his everlasting, good-humoured, satisfied smile. 
In public she ventures only to abuse the doll. In 
the silent watches of the night she directs her sharp 
speeches at Christian himself. Not that she is alto- 
gether miserly, nor by any means an ill-disposed person. 
Had she been of such a disposition her husband would 
not have married her, for he is a very good man of 
business and a keen judge of other wares besides 
tobacco. She is a good mother and a good housewife, 
energetic, thrifty, and of fairly even temper ; but that 
particular piece of generosity which resulted in the 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


7 


acquisition of a red-coated puppet in exchange for fifty- 
marks fills her heart with anger and her plump brown 
fingers with an itching desire to scratch and tear some- 
thing or somebody as a means of satisfying her vengeance. 
For the poor fellow-countryman was one of the Count’s 
friends, and Akulina Fischelowitz abhors the Count and 
loathes him, and the Wiener Gigerl was the beginning 
of the end. 

While Christian is watching his doll, and Akulina 
is seated behind the counter, her hands folded upon 
her lap, and her eyes darting unquiet glances at her 
husband, the Count is busily occupied in making 
cigarettes in the dingy back shop among a group of 
persons, both young and old, all similarly occupied. It 
is not to be expected that the workroom should be 
cleaner or more tastefully decorated than the counting- 
house, and in such a business as the manufacture of 
cigarettes by hand, litter of all sorts accumulates 
rapidly. The “Famous Cigarette Manufactory of 
Christian Fischelowitz, from South Russia ” is about as 
dingy, as unhealthy, as untidy, as dusty a place as 
can be found within the limits of tidy, well-to-do 
Munich. The room is lighted by a window and a 
half-glazed door, both opening upon a dark court. The 
walls, originally whitewashed, are of a deep rich brown, 
attributable partly to the constant fumes and exhala- 
tions of tobacco, partly to the fine brown dust of the 
dried refuse cuttings, and partly to the admirable 
smoke-giving qualities of the rickety iron stove which 
stands in one corner, and in which a fire is daily 


8 


A CIGARETTE-MAKEll’S ROMANCE 


attempted during more than half the year. There are 
many shelves upon the walls too, and the white wood 
of these has also received into itself the warm, deep 
colour. Upon two of these shelves there are accumula- 
tions of useless articles, a cracked glass vase, once the 
pride of the show window, when it was filled to over- 
flowing with fine cut leaf, a broken-down samovar 
which has seen tea-service in many cities, from Kiew 
to Moscow, from Moscow to Vilna, from Vilna to 
Berlin, from Berlin to Munich ; there are fragments of 
Russian lacquered wooden bowls, wrecked cigar-boxes, 
piles of dingy handbills left over from the last half- 
yearly advertisement, a crazy Turkish narghile, the 
broken stem of a chibouque, an old hat and an odd 
boot, besides irregularly shaped parcels, wrapped in 
crumpled brown paper and half buried in dust. Upon 
the other shelves are arranged more neatly rows of tin 
boxes with locks, and reams of still uncut cigarette 
paper, some white, some straw-coloured. 

Round about the room are the seats of the workers. 
One man alone is standing at his task, a man with a 
dark, Cossack face, high cheek-bones, honest, gleaming 
black eyes, straggling hair and ragged beard. In his 
shirt-sleeves, his arms bare to the elbow, he handles 
the heavy swivel knife, pressing the package of care- 
fully arranged leaves forward and under the blade by 
almost imperceptible degrees. It is one of the most 
delicate operations in the art, and the man has an 
especial gift for the work. So sensitive is his strong 
right hand that as the knife cuts through the thick 


A cigakette-maker’s romance 


9 


pile he can detect the presence of a scrap of thin paper 
amongst the tobacco, and not a bit of hardened stem 
or a twisted leaf escapes him. It is very hard work, 
even for a strong man, and the moisture stands in 
great drops on his dark forehead as he carefully presses 
the sharp instrument through the resisting substance, 
quickly lifts it up again and pushes on the package 
for the next cut. 

At a small black table near by sits a Polish girl, 
poorly dressed, her heavy red-brown hair braided in 
one long neat tress, her face deadly white, her blue 
eyes lustreless ^ and sunken, her thin fingers actively 
rolling bits of paper round a glass tube, drawing them 
off as the edges are gummed together, and laying them 
in a prettily arranged pile before her. She is Vjera, 
the shell-maker, invariably spoken of as “poor Vjera.” 
Vjera, being interpreted from the Russian, means 
“Faith.” There is an odd and pathetic irony in the 
name borne by the sickly girl. Faith — faith in what? 
In shell-making ? In Christian Fischelowitz ? In 
Johann Schmidt, the Cossack tobacco-cutter, whose real 
name is lost in the gloom of many dim wanderings ? 
In life ? In death ? Who knows ? In God, at least, 
poor child — and in her wretched existence there is 
little else left for her to believe in. If you ask her 
whether she believes in the Count, she will turn away 
rather hastily, but in that case the wish to believe is 
there. 

Beside Vjera sits another girl, less pale perhaps, but 
more insignificant in feature, and similarly occupied, 


10 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 


with this slight difference that the little cylinders she 
makes are straw-coloured when Vjera is making white 
ones, and white when her companion is using straw- 
coloured paper. On the opposite side of the room, also 
before small black tables, sit two men, to wit, Victor 
Ivanowitch Dumnoff and the Count. It is their busi- 
ness to shape the tobacco and to insert it into the 
shells, a process performed by rolling the cut leaf into 
a cylinder in a tongue-shaped piece of parchment, which, 
when ready, has the form of a pencil, and is slipped 
into the shell. The parchment is then withdrawn, 
and the tobacco remains behind in its place ; the little 
bunch of threads which protrudes at each end is cut 
off with sharp scissors and the cigarette is finished. 

The Count, on the afternoon of the day on which 
this story opens, was sitting before his little black 
table in his usual attitude, his head stooping slightly 
forward, his elbows supported on each side of him, his 
long fingers moving quickly and skilfully, his greyish 
blue eyes fixed intently on his work. At five o’clock 
in the afternoon on Tuesday, the sixth of May, in the 
present year of grace one thousand eight hundred and 
ninety, the Count was rapidly approaching the two- 
thousandth cigarette of that day’s work. Two thou- 
sand in a day was his limit ; and though he boasted 
that he could make three thousand between dawn and 
midnight, if absolutely necessary, yet he confessed that 
among the last five hundred a few might be found in 
which the leaves would be too tightly rolled or too 
loosely packed. Up to his limit, however, he was to 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 11 

be relied upon, and not one of his hundred score of 
cigarettes would be found to differ in weight from 
another by a single grain. 

It is perhaps time to describe the outward appear- 
ance of the busy worker, out of whose life the events 
of some six-and-thirty hours furnish the subject of this 
little tale. The Count is thirty years old, but might 
be thought older, for there are grey streaks in his 
smooth black hair, and there is a grey tone in the 
complexion of his tired face. In figure he is thin, 
broad shouldered, sinewy, well made and graceful. 
He moves easily and with a certain elegance. His 
arms and legs are long in proportion to his body. 
His head is well shaped, bony, full of energy — his 
nose is finely modelled and sharply aquiline ; a short 
dark moustache does not quite hide the firm, well- 
chiselled lips, and the clean-cut chin is prominent and 
of the martial type. From under his rather heavy 
eyebrows a pair of keen eyes, full of changing light 
and expression, look somewhat contemptuously on the 
world and its inhabitants. On the whole, the Count is 
a handsome man and looks a gentleman, in spite of 
his occupation and in spite of his clothes, which are 
in the fashion of twenty years ago, but are carefully 
brushed and all but spotless. There are poor men 
who can wear a coat, as a red Indian will ride a 
mustang which a white man has left for dead, beyond 
the period predetermined by the nature of tailoring as 
the natural term of existence allotted to earthly gar- 
ments. We look upon a centenarian as a miracle of 


12 A CIGARETTE-MAKER^S ROMAHCE 

longevity, and he is careful to tell us his age if he 
have not lost the power of speech ; but if the coats 
of poor men could speak, how much more marvellous 
in our eyes would their powers of life appear ! A 
stranger would have taken the Count for a half-pay 
officer of good birth in straitened circumstances. The 
expression of his face at the time in question was grave 
and thoughtful, as though he were thinking of matters 
weightier to his happiness, if not more necessary to 
his material welfare than his work. He saw his fingers 
moving, he watched each honey-coloured bundle of 
cut leaf as it was rolled in the parchment tongue, and 
with unswerving regularity he made the motions re- 
quired to slip the tobacco into the shell. But, while 
seeing all that he did, and seeing consciously, he looked 
as though he saw also through the familiar materials 
shaped under his fingers, into a dim distance full of a 
larger life and wider interests. 

The five occupants of the workshop had been work- 
ing in silence for nearly half an hour. The two girls 
on the one side and the two men on the other kept 
their eyes bent down upon their fingers, while Johann 
Schmidt, the Cossack, plied his guillotine-like knife in 
the corner. This same Johann Schmidt, whose real 
name, to judge from his appearance, might have been 
Tarass Bulba or Danjelo Buralbash, and was probably 
of a similar sound, was at once the wit, the spendthrift 
and the humanitarian of the Fischelowitz manufactory, 
possessing a number of good qualities in such abundant 
measure as to make him a total failure in everything 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 13 

except the cutting of tobacco. Like many witty, gen- 
erous and kind-hearted persons in a much higher rank 
of existence, he was cursed with a total want of tact. 
On the present occasion, having sliced through an 
unusually long package of leaves and having encoun- 
tered an exceptional number of obstacles in doing so, 
he thought fit to pause, draw a long breath and wipe 
the perspiration from his sallow forehead with a pocket- 
handkerchief in which the neutral tints predominated. 
This operation, preparatory to a rest of ten minutes, 
having been successfully accomplished, Tarass Bulba 
Schmidt picked up a tiny oblong bit of paper which 
had found its way to his feet from one of the girls’ 
tables, took a pinch of the freshly cut tobacco beside 
him and rolled a cigarette in his palm with one hand 
while he felt in his pocket for a match with the other. 
Then, in the midst of a great cloud of fragrant smoke, 
he sat down upon the edge of his cutting-block and 
looked at his companions. After a few moments of 
deep thought he gave expression to his meditations in 
bad German. It is curious to see how readily the Slavs 
in Germany fall into the habit of using the language of 
the country when conversing together. 

“It is my opinion,” he said at last, “that the most 
objectless existences are those which most exactly ac- 
complish the object set before them.” 

Having given vent to this bit of paradox, Johann 
inhaled as much smoke as his leathery lungs could 
contain and relapsed into silence. Vjera, the Polish 
girl, glanced at the tobacco-cutter and went on with 


14 


A cigakette-maker’s romance 


her work. The insignificant girl beside her giggled 
vacantly. Dumnoff did not seem to have heard the 
remark. 

“Nineteen hundred and twenty-three,” muttered the 
Count between his teeth and in Russian, as the nineteen 
hundred and twenty-third cigarette rolled from his 
fingers, and he took up the parchment tongue for the 
nineteen hundred and twenty-fourth time that day. 

“ I do not exactly understand you, Herr Schmidt,” 
said Vjera without looking up again. “An objectless 
life has no object. How then ” 

“There is nothing to understand,” growled Dumnoff, 
who never counted his own work, and always enjoyed 
a bit of conversation, provided he could abuse some- 
thing or somebody. “There is nothing in it, and Herr 
Schmidt is a Landau moss-head.” 

It would be curious to ascertain why the wiseacres 
of eastern Bavaria are held throughout South Germany 
in such contempt as to be a byword for dulness and 
stupidity. The Cossack’s dark eyes shot a quick 
glance at the Russian, but he took no notice of the 
remark. 

“ I mean,” he said, after a pause, “ exactly what I 
say. I am an honest fellow, and I always mean what I 
say, and no offence to anybody. Do we not all of us, 
here with Fischelowitz, exactly fulfil the object set 
before us, I would like to ask ? Do we not make 
cigarettes from morning till night with horrible exact- 
ness and regularity? Very well. Do we not, at the 
same time, lead an atrociously objectless existence ? ” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


15 


“ The object of existence is to live,” remarked Dum- 
noff, who was fond of cabbage and strong spirits, and 
of little else in the world. The Cossack laughed. 

“ Do you call this living ? ” he asked contemptuously. 
Then the good-humoured tone returned to his voice, 
and he shrugged his bony shoulders as he crossed one 
leg over the other and took another puff. 

“ Nineteen hundred and twenty-nine,” said the Count. 

“ Do you call that a life for a Christian man ? ” asked 
Schmidt again, looking at him and waving towards 
him the lighted cigarette he held. “ Is that a life for 
a gentleman, for a real Count, for a noble, for an edu- 
cated aristocrat, for a man born to be the heir of 
millions ? ” 

“Thirty,” said the Count. “No, it is not. But 
there is no reason why you should remind us of the 
fact, that I know of. It is bad enough to be obliged 
to do the thing, without being made to talk about it. 
Not that it matters to me so much to-day as it did a 
year ago, as you may imagine. Thirty-one. It will 
soon be over for me, at least. In fact I only finish these 
two thousand out of kindness to Fischelowitz, because 
I know he has a large order to deliver on the day after 
to-morrow. And, besides, a gentleman must keep his 
word even — thirty-two — in the matter of making 
cigarettes for other people. But the work on this 
batch shall be a parting gift of my goodwill to Fisch- 
elowitz, who is an honest fellow and has understood 
my painful situation all along. To-morrow at this 
time I shall be far away. Thirty-three.” 


16 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


The Count drew a long breath of relief in the 
anticipation of his release from captivity and hard 
labour. Vjera dropped her glass tube and her little 
pieces of paper and looked sadly at him, while he was 
speaking. 

“By the by,” observed the Cossack, “to-day is 
Tuesday. I had quite forgotten. So you really leave 
us to-morrow.” 

“Yes. It is all settled at last, and I have had let- 
ters. It is to-morrow — and this is my last hundred.” 

“ At what time ? ” inquired Dumnoff, with a rough 
laugh. “ Is it to be in the morning or in the afternoon ? ” 

“ I do not know,” answered the Count, quietly and with 
an air of conviction. “ It will certainly be before night.” 

“ Provided you get the news in time to ask us to 
the feast,” jeered the other, “ we shall all be as happy 
as you yourself.” 

“ Thirty-four,” said the Count, who had rolled the 
last cigarette very slowly and thoughtfully. 

Vjera cast an imploring look on Dumnoff, as though 
beseeching him not to continue his jesting. The rough 
man, who might have sat for the type of the Russian 
mujik, noticed the glance and was silent. 

“ Who is incredulous enough to disbelieve this time ? ” 
asked the Cossack, gravely. “ Besides, the Count says 
that he has had letters ; so it is certain, at last.” 

“Love-letters, he means,” giggled the insignificant 
girl, who rejoiced in the name of Anna Schmigjelskova. 
Then she looked at Vjera as though afraid of her dis- 
pleasure. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


17 


But Vjera took no notice of the silly speech and 
sat idle for some minutes, gazing at the Count with an 
expression in which love, admiration and pity were 
very oddly mingled. Pale and ill as she looked, there 
was a ray of light and a movement of life in her face 
during those few moments. Then she took again her 
glass tube and her bits of paper and resumed her task 
of making shells, with a little heave of her thin chest 
that betrayed the suppression of a sigh. 

The Count finished his second thousand, and 
arranged the last hundreds neatly with the others, 
laying them in little heaps and patting the ends with 
his fingers so that they should present an absolutely 
symmetrical appearance. Dumnoff plodded on, in his 
peculiar way, doing the work well and then carelessly 
tossing it into a basket by his side. He was capable 
of working fourteen hours at a stretch when there was 
a prospect of cabbage soup and liquor in the evening. 
The Cossack cleaned his cutting-block and his broad 
swivel knife and emptied the cut tobacco into a clean 
tin box. It was clear that the day’s work was almost 
at an end for all present. At that moment Fischelo- 
witz entered with jaunty step and smiling face, jingling 
a quantity of loose silver in his hand. He is a little 
man, rotund and cheerful, quiet of speech and sunny 
in manner, with a brown beard and waving dark hair, 
arranged in the manner dear to barbers’ apprentices. 
He has very soft brown eyes, a healthy complexion 
and a nose the inverse of aquiline, for it curves up- 
wards to its sharp point, as though perpetually snuffing 


18 


A CIGAEETTE-M Aker’s romance 


after the pleasant fragrance of his favourite “Dubec 
otborny.” 

“Well, my children,” he said, with a slight stammer 
that somehow lent an additional kindliness to his tone, 
“what has the day’s work been? You first, Herr 
Graf,” he added, turning to the Count. “I suppose 
that you have made a thousand at least ? ” 

Fischelowitz possessed in abundance the tact which 
was lacking in Johann Schmidt, the Cossack. He 
well knew that the Count had made double the quan- 
tity, but he also knew that the latter enjoyed the 
small triumph of producing twice what seemed to be 
expected of him. 

“Two thousand, Herr Fischelowitz,” he said, proudly. 
Then seeing that his employer was counting out the 
sum of six marks, he made a deprecating gesture, as 
though refusing all payment. 

“No,” he said, with great dignity, and rising from 
his seat. “ No. You must allow me, on this occasion, 
to refuse the honorarium usual - under the circum- 
stances.” 

“ And why, my dear Count ? ” inquired Fischelowitz, 
shaking the six marks in one hand and the remainder 
of his money in the other, as though weighing the 
silver. “ And why will you refuse me the honor ” 

The other working people exchanged glances of 
amusement, as though they knew what was coming. 
Vjera hid her face in her hands as she rested her 
elbows on the table before her. 

“ I must indeed explain/’ answered the Count. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


19 


“ To-morrow, I shall be obliged to leave you, not to 
return to the occupation which has so long been a 
necessity to me in my troubles. Fortune at last 
returns to me and I am free. I think I have spoken 
to you in confidence of my situation, once at least, if 
not more often. My difficulties are at an end. I 
have received letters announcing that to-morrow I 
shall be reinstated in my possessions. You have 
shown me kindness — kindness, Herr Fischelowitz, and, 
what has been more than kindness to me, you have 
shown me great courtesy. Every one has not treated 
the poor gentleman with the same forbearance. But 
let bygones be bygones. On the occasion of my 
return to prosperity, permit me to offer you, as the 
only gift as yet within my means, the result of my 
last day’s work within these walls. You have been 
very kind, and I thank you very sincerely.” 

There was a tremor in the Count’s voice, and a 
moisture in his eyes, as he drew himself up in his 
threadbare decent frock-coat and held out his sinewy 
hand, stained with the long handling of tobacco in his 
daily labour. Fischelowitz smiled with uncommon 
cheerfulness as he grasped the bony fingers heartily. 

“ Thank you,” he said. “ I accept. I esteem it an 
honour to have been of any assistance to you in your 
temporary annoyances.” 

Vjera still hid her face. The Cossack watched 
what was happening with an expression half sad, half 
curious, and Dumnoff displayed a set of ferocious white 
teeth as he stupidly grinned from ear to ear. 


CHAPTER II 


Fisc HELO WITZ paid each worker for the day’s work, 
in his quick, cheerful way, and each, being paid, passed 
out through the front shop into the street. Five min- 
utes later the Count was strolling along the Maximili- 
ans-strasse in the direction of the royal palace. As he 
walked he drew himself up to the full height of his 
military figure and looked into the faces of the passers 
in the way with grave dignity. At that hour there 
were many people abroad, slim lieutenants in the green 
uniforms of the Uhlans and in the blue coats and crim- 
son facings of the heavy cavalry, superior officers with 
silver or gold plaited epaulettes, slim maidens and 
plump matrons, beardless students in bright, coloured 
caps, and solemn, elderly civilians with great beards 
and greater spectacles, great Munich burghers and 
little Munich nobles, gaily dressed children of all ages, 
dogs of every breed from the Saint Bernard to the 
crooked- jointed Dachs, perambulators not a few and 
legions of nursery maids. Most of the people who passed 
cast a glance at the thoroughbred-looking man in the 
threadbare frock-coat who looked at them all with such 
an air of quiet superiority, carrying his head so high and 
putting down his feet with such a firm tread. There 
were doubtless those among the crowd who saw in the 
tired face the indications of a life-story not without 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 21 

interest, for the crowd was not, nor ever is, in Munich, 
lacking in intelligent and observant persons. But in 
all the multitude there was not one man or woman who 
knew the name of the individual to whom the face 
belonged, and there were few who would have risked 
the respectability of their social position by making 
the acquaintance of a man so evidently poor, even if 
the occasion had presented itself. 

But presently a figure was seen moving swiftly 
through the throng in the direction already taken by 
the Count, a figure of a type much more familiar to the 
sight of the Munich stroller, for it was that of a poorly 
dressed girl with a long plait of red-brown hair, carry- 
ing a covered brown straw basket upon one arm and 
hurrying along with the noiseless tread possible only in 
the extreme old age of shoes that were never strong. 
Poor Vjera had been sent by Fischelowitz with a thou- 
sand cigarettes to be delivered at one of the hotels. She 
was generally employed upon like errands, because she 
was the poorest in the establishment, and those who re- 
ceived the wares gave her a few pence for her trouble. 
She sped quickly onward, until she suddenly found her- 
self close behind the Count. Then she slackened her 
pace and crept along as noiselessly as possible, her eyes 
fixed upon him as she walked and evidently doing her 
best not to overtake him nor to be seen by him. As 
luck would have it, however, the Count suddenly 
stood still before the show window of a picture- 
dealer’s shop. A clever painting of a solitary Cossack 
riding along a stony mountain road, by Josef Brandt, 


22 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 


had attracted his attention. Then as he realised that 
he had looked at the picture a dozen times during the 
previous week, his eye wandered, and in the reflection 
of the plate -glass window he caught sight of Vj era’s 
slight form at no great distance from him. He turned 
sharply upon his heels and met her eyes, taking off his 
limp hat with a courteous gesture. 

“ Permit me,” he said, laying his hand upon the bas- 
ket and trying to take it from her. 

Poor Vj era’s face flushed suddenly, and her grip 
tightened upon the straw handle and she refused to let 
it go. 

“ No, you shall never do that again,” she said quickly, 
trying to draw back from him. 

“ And why not ? Why should I not do you a ser- 
vice ?” 

“ The other day you took it — tlie people stared at 
you — they never stare at me, for I am only a poor 
girl ” 

“ And what are the people or what is their staring to 
me ? ” asked the Count, quietly. “ I am not afraid of 
being taken for a servant or a porter, because I carry a 
lady’s parcel. Pray give me the basket.” 

“ Oh, no, pray let it be,” cried Vjera, in great earnest. 
“ I cannot bear to see you with such a thing in your 
hand.” 

They were still standing before the picture-dealer’s 
window, while many people passed along the pavement. 
In trying to draw away, Vjera found herself suddenly 
in the stream, and just then a broad-shouldered officer 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


23 


who chanced to be looking the other way came into 
collision with her, so roughly that she was forced almost 
into the Count’s arms. The latter made a step forward. 

“ Is it your habit to jostle ladies in that way ? ” he 
asked in a sharp tone, addressing the stout lieutenant. 

The latter muttered something which might be taken 
for an apology and passed on, having no intention of 
being drawn into a street quarrel with an odd-looking 
individual, who, from his accent, was evidently a 
foreigner. The Count’s eyes darted an angry glance 
after the offender, and then he looked again at Vjera. 
In the little accident he had got possession of the bas- 
ket. Thereupon he passed it to his left hand and offered 
Vjera his right arm. 

“ Did the insolent fellow hurt you ? ” he asked anx- 
iously, in Polish. 

“ Oh, no — only give me my basket ! ” Vjera’s face 
was painfully flushed. 

“ No, my dear child,” said the Count, gravely. “You 
will not deny me the pleasure of accompanying you and 
of carrying your burden. Afterwards, if you will, we 
can take a little walk together, before I see you to your 
home.” 

“You are always so kind to me,” answered the girl, 
bending her head, as though to hide her burning cheeks, 
but submitting at last to his will. 

For some minutes they walked on in silence. Then 
Vjera showed by a gesture that she wished to cross the 
street, on the other side of which was situated one of 
the principal hotels of the city. In front of the 


24 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


entrance Yjera put out her hand entreatingly towards 
her basket, but the Count took no notice of the attempt 
and resolutely ascended the steps of the porch by her 
side. Behind the swinging glass door stood the huge 
porter amply endowed with that military appearance so 
characteristic of all men in Germany who wear anything 
of the nature of an official costume. 

“ The lady has a package for some one here,” said the 
Count, holding out the basket. 

“For the head waiter,” said Vjera, timidly. 

The porter took the basket, set it down, touched the 
button of an electric bell and silently looked at the 
pair with the malignant scrutiny which is the preroga- 
tive' of servants in their manner with those whom they 
are privileged to consider as their inferiors. Presently, 
however, meeting the Count’s cold stare, he turned 
away and strolled up the vestibule. A moment later 
the head waiter appeared, glorious in a perfectly new 
evening coat and a phenomenal shirt front. 

“ Ah, my cigarettes ! ” he exclaimed briskly, and the 
Count heard the chink of the nickel pence, as the head 
waiter inserted two fat white fingers into the pocket 
of his exceedingly fashionable waistcoat. 

The sight which must follow was one which the 
Count was anxious not to see. He therefore turned 
his back and pretended to brush from his sleeve a 
speck of dust revealed to his searching eye in the 
strong afternoon light which streamed through the open 
door. Then Yj era’s low-spoken word of thanks and 
her light tread made him aware that she had received 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 25 

her little gratuity ; he stood politely aside while she 
passed out, and then went down the half-dozen steps 
with her. As they began to move up the street, he 
did not offer her his arm again. 

“You are so kind, so kind to me,” said poor Vjera. 
“ How can I ever thank you ! ” 

“ Between you and me there is no question of 
thanks,” answered her companion. “ Or if there is to 
be such a question it should arise in another way. It 
is for me to thank you.” 

“ For what ? ” 

“ For many things, all of which have proceeded from 
your kindness of heart and have resulted in making 
my life bearable during the past months — or years. I 
keep little account of time. How long is it since I 
have been making cigarettes for Fischelowitz, at the 
rate of three marks a thousand ? ” 

“ Ever since I can remember,” answered Vjera. “ It 
is six years since I came to work there as a little girl.” 

“Six years? That is not possible! You must be 
mistaken, it cannot be so long.” 

Vjera said nothing, but turned her face away with 
an expression of pain. 

“Yes, it is a long time, since all that happened,” 
said the Count, thoughtfully. “ I was a young man 
then, I am old now.” 

“ Old I How can you say anything so untrue I ” Vjera 
exclaimed with considerable indignation. 

“Yes, I am old. It is no wonder. We say at home 
that ‘strange earth dries without wind.’ A foreign 


26 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


land will make old bones of a man without the help of 
years. That is what Germany has done for me. And 
yet, how much older I should be but for you, dear 
Vjera ! Shall we sit down here, in this quiet place, 
under the trees? You know it is all over to-morrow, 
and I am free at last. I would like to tell you my 
story.” 

Vjera, who was tired of the close atmosphere of the 
work-room and whose strength was not enough to let 
her walk far with pleasure, sat down upon the green 
bench willingly enough, but the nervous look of pain 
had not disappeared from her face. 

“ Is it of any use to tell it to me again ? ” she asked, 
sadly, as she leaned against the painted back-board. 

The Count produced a cigarette and gravely lighted 
it, before he answered her, and when he spoke he seemed 
to attach little or no importance to her question. 

“ You see,” he said, “ it is all different now, and I can 
look at it from a different point of view. Formerly 
when I spoke of it, I am afraid that I spoke bitterly, 
for, of course, I could not foresee that it could all come 
right again so soon, so very soon. And now that this 
weary time is over I can look back upon it with some 
pride, if with little pleasure — save for the part you 
have played in my life, and — may I say it ? — saving 
the part I have played in yours.” 

He put out his hand gently and tenderly touched 
hers, and there was something in the meeting of those 
two thin, yellow hands, stained with the same daily 
labour and not meeting for the first time thus, that 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 27 

sent a thrill to the two hearts and that might have 
brought a look of thoughtful interest into eyes dulled 
and wearied by the ordinary sights of this world. 
Vjera did not resent the innocent caress, but the colour 
that came into her face was not of the same hue as 
that which had burned there when he had insisted 
upon carrying her basket. This time the blush was 
not painful to see, but rather shed a faint light of beauty 
over the plain, pale features. Poor Vjera was happy 
for a moment. 

“ I am very glad if I have been, anything to you,” 
she said. “ I would I might have been more.” 

“More? I do not see — you have been gentle, for- 
bearing, respecting my misfortunes, and trying to 
make others respect them . What more coidd 3'ou have 
done, or what more could you have been ? ” 

Vjera was silent, but she softly withdrew her hand 
from his and gazed at the people in the distance. The 
Count smoked without speaking, for several minutes, 
closing his eyes as though revolving a great problem 
in his mind, then glancing sidelong at his companion’s 
face, hesitating as though about to speak, checking 
himself and shutting his eyes again in meditation. 
Holding his cigarette between his teeth he clasped his 
fingers together tightly, unclasped them again and let 
his arms fall on each side of him. At last he turned 
sharply, as though resolved what to do. 

He believed that he was on the very eve of recover- 
ing a vast fortune and of resuming a high position in 
the world. It was no wonder that there was a struggle 


28 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


in his soul, when at that moment a new complication 
seemed to present itself. He was indeed sure that 
he did not love Vjera, and in the brilliant dreams 
which floated before his half-closed eyes, visions of 
beautiful and high-born women dazzled him with their 
smiles and enchanted him b}^ the perfect grace of their 
movements. To-morrow he might choose his wife 
among such as they. But to-day Vjera was by his 
side, poor Vjera, who alone of those he had known 
during the years of his captivity had stood by him, had 
felt for him, had given him a sense of reliance in her 
perfect sincerity and honest affection. And her affec- 
tion had grown into something more ; it had developed 
into love during the last months. He had seen it, had 
known it, and had done nothing to arrest the growth. 
Nay, he had done worse. Only a moment ago he 
had taken her hand in a way which might well mislead 
an innocent girl. The Count, according to his lights, 
was the very incarnation of the theory, honour, in the 
practice, honesty. His path was clear. If he had 
deceived Vjera in the very smallest accent of word 
or detail of deed he must make instant reparation. 
This was the reason why he turned sharply in his 
seat and looked at her with a look which was certainly 
kind, but which was, perhaps, more full of determina- 
tion than of lover-like tenderness. 

“Vjera,” he said, slowly, pausing on every syllable 
of his speech, “ will you be my wife ? ” 

Vjera looked at him long and shook her head in 
silence. Instead of blushing, she turned pale, chang- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


29 


ing colour with that suddenness which belongs to deli- 
cate or exhausted organisations. The Count did not 
heed the plain though unspoken negation, and contin- 
ued to speak very slowly and earnestly, choosing his 
words and rounding his expressions as though he were 
making a declaration to a young princess instead of 
asking a poor Polish girl to marry him. He even drew 
himself together, as it were, with the movement of dig- 
nity which was habitual with him, straightening his 
back, squaring his shoulders and leaning slightly for- 
ward in his seat. As he began to speak again, Vjera 
clasped her hands upon her knees and looked down at 
the gravel of the public path. 

“I am in earnest,” he said. “To-morrow, all those 
rights to which I was born will be restored to me, and 
I shall enjoy what the world calls a great position. 
Am I so deeply indebted to the world that I must sub- 
mit to all its prejudices and traditions ? Has the 
world given me anything, in exchange for which it 
becomes my duty to consult its caprices or its social 
superstitions ? Surely not. To whom am I most 
indebted, to the world which has turned its back on me 
during a temporary embarrassment and loss of fortune, 
or to my friend Vjera who has been faithfully kind all 
along? The question itself is foolish. I owe every- 
thing to Vjera, and nothing to the world. The case is 
simple, the argument is short and the verdict is plain. 
I will not take the riches and the dignities which will 
be mine by this time to-morrow to the feet of some 
high-born lady who, to-day, would look coldly on me 


80 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


because I am not — not quite in the fashion, so far as 
outward appearance is concerned. But I will and I 
do offer all, wealth, title, dignity, everything to Vjera. 
And she shakes her head, and with a single gesture 
refuses it all. Why ? Has she a reason to give ? An 
argument to set up ? A sensible ground for her deci- 
sion ? No, certainly not.” 

As he looked gravely towards her averted face, Vjera 
again shook her head, slowly and thoughtfully, with an 
air of unalterable determination. He seemed surprised 
at her obstinacy and watched her in silence for a few 
moments. 

“ I see,” he said at last, very sadly. “ You think that 
I do not love you.” Vjera made no sign, and a long 
pause followed during which the Count’s features 
expressed great perplexity. 

The day was drawing to its close and the low sun 
shot level rays through the trees of the Hofgarten, 
far above the heads of the laughing children, the gos- 
siping nurses and the slowly moving crowd that filled 
the pavement along the drive in front of the palace. 
Vjera and the Count were seated on a bench which 
was now already in the shade. The air was beginning 
to grow chilly, but neither of them heeded the change. 

“ You think that I do not love you,” said the Count 
again. “You are mistaken, deeply mistaken, Vjera.” 

The faint, soft colour rose in the poor girl’s waxen 
cheeks, and there was an unaccustomed light in her 
weary blue eyes as they met his. 

“ I do not say,” continued her companion, “ that I 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 31 

love you as boys love at twenty. I am past that. I 
am not a young man any more, and I have had misfor- 
tunes such as would have broken the hearts of most 
men, and of the kind that do not dispose to great love- 
passion. If my troubles had come to me through the 
love of a woman — it might have been otherwise. As 
it is — do you think that I have no love for you, 
Vjera? Do not think that, dear — do not let me see 
that you think it, for it would hurt me. There is much 
for you, much, very much.” 

“ To-day,” answered Vjera, sadly, “ but not to- 
morrow.” 

“ You are cruel, without meaning to be even 
unkind,” said the Count in an unsteady voice. This 
time it was Vjera who took his hand in hers and 
pressed it. 

“ God forbid that I should have an unkind thought 
for you,” she said, very tenderly. 

The Count turned to her again and there was a 
moisture in his eyes of which he was unconscious. 

“Then believe that I do truly love you, Vjera,” he 
answered. “ Believe that all that there is to give you, I 
give, and that my all is not a little. I love you, child, 
in a way — ah, well, you have your girlish dreams of 
love, and it is right that you should have them and it 
would be very wrong to destroy them. But they shall 
not be destroyed by me, and surely not by any other 
man, while I live. I shall grow young again, I will 
grow young for you, for, in years at least, I am not old. 
I will be a boy for you, Vjera, and I will love as boys 


32 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


love, but with the strength of a man who has known 
sorrow and overlived it. You shall not feel that in 
taking me you are taking a father, a protector, a man 
to whom your youth seems childhood, and your youth- 
fulness childish folly. No, no — I will be more than 
that to you, I will be all to you that you are to me, 
and more, and more, each day, till love has made us of 
one age, of one mind, of one heart. Do you not 
believe that all this shall be ? Speak, dear. What is 
there yet behind in your thoughts ? ” 

“I cannot tell. I wish I knew.” Vjera’s answer 
was scarcely audible, and she turned her face from 
him. 

“ And yet there is something, you are keeping some- 
thing from me, when I have kept nothing from you. 
Why is it? Why do you not quite trust me and 
believe in me ? I can make you happy, now. Yester- 
day it was different, and so it was in all the yesterdays 
of yesterdays. I had nothing to offer you but myself.” 

“ It were best so,” said Vjera in a low voice. 

The Count was silent. There was something in her 
manner which he could not understand, or rather, as he 
fancied, there was something in his own brain which 
prevented him from understanding a very simple mat- 
ter, and he grew impatient with himself. At the same 
time he felt more and more strongly drawn to the 
young girl at his side. As the sun went down and the 
evening shadows deepened, he saw more in her face 
than he had been accustomed to see there. Every line 
of the pale features so familiar to his sight in his every- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 33 

clay life, reminded him of moments in the recent past 
when he had been wretchedly unhappy, and when the 
kindly look in Vjera’s face had comforted him and 
made life seem less unbearable. In his dreary world 
she alone had shown that she cared whether he lived or 
died, were insulted or respected, were treated like a 
dog or like a Christian man. The kindness of his 
employer was indeed undeniable, but it was of the sort 
which grated upon the sensitive nature of the unfortu- 
nate cigarette-maker, for it was in itself vulgarly cheer- 
ful, assuming that, after all, the Count should be 
contented with his lot. But Yjera had always seemed 
to understand him, to feel for him, to foresee his sensi- 
bilities as it were, and to be prepared for them. In a 
measure appreciable to himself she admired him, and 
admiration alone can make pity palatable to the proud. 
In her eyes his constancy under misfortune was as 
admirable as his misfortunes themselves were worthy 
of commiseration. In her eyes he was a gentleman, 
and one who had a right to hold his head high among 
the best. When he was poorest, he had felt himself to 
be in her eyes a hero. Are there many men who can 
resist the charm of the one woman who believes them 
to be heroic? Are not most men, too, really better 
for the trust and faith that is placed in them by others, 
as the earthen vessel, valueless in itself, becomes a 
thing of prize and beauty under the loving hand of the 
artist who draws graceful figures upon it and colours it 
skilfully, and handles it tenderly ? 

And now the poor man was puzzled and made 


34 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


anxious by the girl’s obstinate rejection of his offer. 
A chilly thought took shape in his mind and pained 
him exceedingly. 

“Yjera,” he said at last, “I see how it is. You have 
never loved me. You have only pitied me. You are 
good and kind, Vjera, but I wish it had been otherwise.” 

He spoke very quietly, in a subdued tone, and the 
moisture which had been more than once in his eyes 
since he had sat down beside the young girl, now 
almost took the shape of a tear. He was wounded in 
his innocent vanity, in the last stronghold of his fast- 
fading individuality. But Vjera turned quickly at the 
words and a momentary fire illuminated her pale blue 
eyes and dispelled the misty veil that seemed to dull 
them. 

“ Whatever you say, do not say that ! ” she exclaimed. 
“I love you with all my heart — I — ah, if you only 
understood, if you only knew, if you only guessed ! ” 

“ That is it,” answered the Count. “ If I only could 
— but there is something that passes my understand- 
ing.” 

The look of pain faded from his face and gave way 
to a bright smile, so bright, so rare, that it restored in 
the magic of an instant the freshness of early youth to 
the weary mask of sorrow. Then he covered his eyes 
with his hands as though searching his memory for 
something he could not find. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked, after a short pause and 
looking suddenly at Vjera. “It is something I ought 
to remember and yet something I have quite forgotten. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 35 

Help me, Vjera, tell me what you are thinking of, and 
I will explain it all.” 

“I was thinking of this day a week ago,” said Vjera, 
and a little sob escaped her as she quickly looked away. 

“ A week ago ? Let me see — what happened a 
week ago? But why should I ask? Nothing ever 
happens to me, nothing until now? And now, oh 
Vjera, it is you who do not understand, it is you who 
do not know, who cannot guess.” 

As if he had forgotten everything else in the sudden 
realisation of his return to liberty and fortune, he 
began to speak quickly and excitedly in a tone louder 
and clearer than that of his ordinary voice. 

“No,” he cried, “you can never guess what this 
change is to me. You can never know what I enjoy 
in the thought of being myself again, you cannot 
understand what it is to have been rich and great, and 
to be poor and wretched, and to regain wealth and 
dignity again by the stroke of a pen in the vibration of 
a second. And yet it is true, all true, I tell you, to- 
day, at last, after so much waiting. To-morrow they 
will come to my lodging to fetch me — a court carriage 
or two, and many officials who will treat me with the 
old respect I was used to long ago. They will come 
up my little staircase, bringing money, immense quanti- 
ties of money, and the papers and the parchments and 
the seals. How they will stare at my poor lodging, for 
they have never known that I have been so wretched. 
Yes, one will bring money in a black leathern case — I 
know just how it will look — and another will have 


36 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


with him a box full of documents — all lawfully mine — 
and a third will bring my orders, that I once wore, and 
with them the order of Saint Alexander Nevsky and a 
letter on broad heavy paper, signed Alexander Alexan- 
dre vitch, signed by the Tsar himself, Vjera. And I 
shall go with them to be received in audience by the 
Prince Regent here, before I leave for Petersburg. 
And then, after dinner, in the evening, I will get into 
my special carriage in the express train and my servants 
will make me comfortable and then away, away, a night 
and a day, and another night and perhaps a few hours 
more and I shall be at home at last, in my own great, 
beautiful home, far out in the glorious country among 
the woods and the streams and the birds; and I shall 
be driven in an open carriage with four horses up from 
tlie village through the great avenue of poplars to the 
grand old house. But before I go in I will go to the 
tomb — yes, I will go to the tomb among the trees, and 
I will say a prayer for my father and ” 

“ Your father ? ” Vjera started slightly. She had 
listened to the long catalogue of the poor man’s antici- 
pations with a sad, unchanging face, as though she had 
heard it all before. But at the mention of his father’s 
death she seemed surprised. 

“ Yes. He is dead at last, and my brother died on 
the same day. I have had letters. There was a 
disease abroad in the village. They caught it and 
they died. And now everything is mine, everytlimg, 
the lands and the houses and the money, all, all mine. 
But I will say a prayer for them, now that they are 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 


37 


dead and I shall never see them again. God knows, 
they treated me ill when they were alive, but death 
has them at last.” 

The Count’s eyes grew suddenly cold and hard, so 
that Vjera shuddered as she caught the look of hatred 
in them. 

“Death, death, death ! ” he cried. “ Death the judge, 
the gaoler, the executioner ! He has done justice on 
them for me, and they will not break loose from the 
house he has made for them to lie in and to sleep 
in for ever. And now, friend Death, I am master 
in their stead, and you must give me time to enjoy the 
mastership before you serve me likewise. Oh, Vjera, 
the joy, the delight, the ecstacy, the glory of it all ! ” 

He struck the palms of his lean hands together with 
the gesture of a boy, and laughed aloud in the sheer 
overflowing of his heart. But Vjera sat still, silent 
and thoughtful, beside him, watching him rather anx- 
iously as though she feared lest the excess of his happi- 
ness might do him an injury. 

“ You do not say anything, Vjera. You do not 
seem glad,” he said, suddenly noticing her expression. 

“ I am very glad, indeed I am,” she answered, smil- 
ing with a great effort. “ Who would not be glad at 
the thought of seeing you enjoy your own again ? ” 

“It is not for the money, Vjera ! ” he exclaimed in 
a lower and more concentrated tone. “ It is not really 
for the money nor for the lands, nor even for the 
position or the dignity. Do you know what it is that 
makes me so happy ? I have got the best of it. That 


38 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


is it. It has been a long struggle and a weary one, 
but I knew I should win, though I never saw how it 
was to be. When they turned me away from them 
like a dog, my father and my brother, I faced them on 
the threshold for the last time and I said to them, 
‘ Look you, you have made an outcast of me, and yet 
I am your son, my father, and your brother, my 
brother, and you know it. And yet I tell you that 
when we meet again, I shall be master here, and not 
you.’ And so it has turned out, Vjera, for they shall 
meet me — they dead, and I alive. They jeered and 
laughed, and sent me away with only the clothes I 
wore, for I would not take their money. I hear their 
laughter now in my ears — but I hear, too, a laugh 
that is louder and more pitiless than theirs was, for it 
is the laugh of Death ! ” 


CHAPTER III 


The Count rose to his feet as he finished the last 
sentence. It seemed as though he were oppressed by 
the inaction to which he was constrained during the 
last hours of waiting before the great moment, and he 
moved nervously, like a man anxious to throw off a 
burden. 

Vjera rose also, with a slow and weary movement. 

“It is late,” she said. “I must go home. Good- 
night.” 

“No. I will go with you. I will see you to your 
door.” 

“ Thank you,” she answered, watching his face 
closely. 

Then the two walked side by side under the lime 
trees in the deepening evening shadows, to the low 
archway by which the road leads out of the Hofgarten 
on the side of the city. For some minutes neither 
spoke, but Vjera could hear her companion’s quickly 
drawn, irregular breath. His heart was beating fast 
and his thoughts were chasing each other through a 
labyrinth of dreams, inconsequent, unreasonable, but 
brilliant in the extreme. His head high, his shoulders 
thrown back, his eyes flashing, his lips tightly closed, 
the Count marched out with his companion into the 
broad square. He felt that this had been the last day 

39 


40 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


of his slavery and that the morrow’s sun was to rise 
upon a brighter and a happier period of his life, in 
which there should be no more poverty, no more 
manual labour, no more pinching and grinding and 
tormenting of himself in the hopeless effort at outward 
and visible respectability. Poor Vjera saw in his face 
what was passing in his mind, but her own expression 
of sadness did not change. On the contrary, since his 
last outbreak of triumphant satisfaction she had been 
more than usually depressed. For a long time the 
Count did not again notice her low spirits, being ab- 
sorbed in the contemplation of his own splendid future. 
At last he seemed to recollect her presence at his side, 
glanced at her, made as though to say something, 
checked himself, and began humming snatches from 
an old opera. But either his musical memory did not 
serve him, or his humour changed all at once, for he 
suddenly was silent again, and after glancing once 
more at Vjera’s downcast face his own became very 
grave. 

He had been brought back to present considerations, 
and he found himself in one of those dilemmas with 
which his genuine pride, his innocent and harmless 
vanity and his innate kindness constantly beset his 
life. He had asked Vjera to marry him, scarcely half 
an hour earlier, and he now found himself separated 
from the moment which had given birth to the gener- 
ous impulse, by a lengthened contemplation of his own 
immediate return to wealth and importance. 

He was deeply attached to the poor Polish girl, as 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


41 


men shipwrecked upon desert islands grow fond of 
persons upon whom they could have bestowed no 
thought in ordinary life. He had grown well accus- 
tomed to his poor existence, and in the surroundings 
in which he found himself, Vjera was the one being 
in whom, besides sympathy for his misfortune, he 
discovered a sensibility rarer than common, and the 
unconscious development of a natural refinement. 
There are strange elements to be found in all great 
cities among the colonies of strangers who make their 
dwellings therein. Brought together by trouble, they 
live in tolerance among themselves, and none asks 
the other the fundamental question of upper society, 
“ Whence art thou ? ” — nor does any make of his 
neighbour the inquiry which rises first to the lips of 
the man of action, “ Whither goest thou ? ” They meet 
as the seaweed meets on the crest of the wave, of many 
colours from many distant depths, to intermingle for 
a time in the motion of the waters, to part company 
under the driving of the north wind, to be drifted 
at last, forgetful of each other, by tides and currents 
which wash the opposite ends of the earth. This is 
the life of the emigrant, of the exile, of the wanderer 
among men; the incongruous elements meet, have brief 
acquaintance and part, not to meet again. Who shall 
count the faces that the exile has known, the voices 
that have been familiar in his ear, the hands that have 
pressed his ? In every land and in every city, he 
has met and talked with a score, with scores, with 
hundreds of men and women all leading the more or 


42 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

less mysterious and uncertain life which has become 
his own by necessity or by choice. If he be an honest 
man and poor, a dozen trades have occupied his fingers 
in half a dozen capitals ; if he be dishonest, a hundred 
forms and varieties of money-bringing dishonesty are 
sheathed like arrows in his quiver, to be shot unawares 
into the crowd of well-to-do and unsuspecting citizens 
on the borders of whose respectable society the adven- 
turer warily picks his path. 

It is rarely that two persons meet under such cir- 
cumstances between whom the bond of a real sympathy 
exists and can develop into lasting friendship between 
man and man, or into true love between man and Woman. 
When both feel themselves approaching such a point, 
they are also unconsciously returning to civilisation, 
and with the civilising influence arises the desire to 
ask the fatal question, “ Whence art thou ? ” — or the 
fear lest the other may ask it, and the anxiety to find 
an answer where there is none that will bear scrutiny. 

It was therefore natural that the Count should feel 
disturbed at what he had done, in spite of his sincere 
and honourable wish to abide by his proposal and to 
make Vjera his wife. He felt that in returning to his 
own position in the world he owed it in a measure to 
himself to wed with a maiden of whom he could at 
least say that she came of honest people. Always 
centred in his own alternating hopes and fears, and 
conscious of little in the lives of others, it seemed to 
him that a great difficulty had suddenly revealed itself 
to his apprehensions. At the same time, by a self- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


43 


contradiction familiar to such natures as his, he felt 
himself more and more strongly drawn to the girl, and 
more and more strictly bound in honour to marry her. 
As he thought of this, his habitual contempt of the 
world and its opinion returned. What had the world 
done for him ? And if he had felt no obligation to con- 
sult it in his poverty, why need he bend to any such 
slavery in the coming days of his splendour ? He 
stopped suddenly at the corner of the street in which 
the Polish girl lived. She lodged, with a little sister 
who was still too young to work, in a room she hired 
of a respectable Bohemian shoemaker. The latter’s 
wife was of the sour-good kind, whose chief talent lies 
in giving their kind actions a hard-hearted appearance. 

“ Vjera,” said the Count, earnestly, “ I have been 
talking a great deal about myself. You must forgive 
me, for the news I have received is so very important 
and makes such a sudden difference in my prospects. 
But you have not given me the answer I want to my 
question. Will you be my wife, Vjera, and come with 
me out of this wretched existence to share my happy 
life and to make it liappier ? Will you? ” 

His tone was so sincere and loving that it produced 
a little storm of evanescent happiness in the girl’s 
heart, and the tears started to her eyes and stained her 
sallow, waxen cheeks. 

“ Ah, if it could only be true ! ” she exclaimed in a 
voice more than half full of hope, as she quickly brushed ' 
away the drops. 

“But it is true, indeed it is,” answered the Count. 


44 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ Oh, Vjera, do you think I would deceive you ? Do 
you think I could tell you a story in which there is no 
truth whatever? Do not think that of me, Vjera.” 

The tears broke out afresh, but from a different 
source. For some seconds she could not speak. 

“ Why do you cry so bitterly ? ” he asked, not 
understanding at all what was passing. “I swear to 
you it is all true ” 

“It is not that — it is not that,” cried Vjera. “I 
know — I know that you believe it — and I love you so 
very much ” 

“ But then, I do not understand,” said the Count in 
a low voice that expressed his pitiful perplexity. 
“ How can I not believe it, when it is all in the letters ? 
And why should you not believe it, too ? Besides, Vjera 
dear, it will all be quite clear to-morrow. Of course — 
well, I can understand that having known me poor so 
long, it must seem strange to you to think of me as 
very rich. But I shall not be another man, for that. I 
shall always be the same for you, Vjera, alwaj^s the same.” 

“Yes, always the same,” sighed the girl under her 
breath. 

“ Yes, and so, if you love me to-day, you will love 
me just as well to-morrow — to-morrow, the great day 
for me. What day will it be ? Let me see — to-morrow 
is Wednesday.” 

“Wednesday, yes,” repeated Vjera. “If only there 

were no to-morrow ” She checked herself. “I 

mean,” she added, quickly, “ if only it could be Thurs- 
day, without any day between.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


45 


“You are a strange girl, Vjera. I do not know 
what you are thinking of to-day. But to-morrow you 
will see. I think they will come for me in the morn- 
ing. You shall see, you shall see.” 

Vjera began to move onward, and the Count walked 
by her side, wondering at her manner and tormenting 
his brain in the vain effort to understand it. In front 
of her door he held out his hand. 

“ Promise me one thing,” he said, as she laid her 
fingers in his and looked up at him. Her eyes were 
still full of tears. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked. 

“Promise that you will be my wife, when you are 
convinced that all this good fortune is real. You do not 
believe in it, though I cannot tell why. I only ask that 
when you are obliged to believe in it you will do as I ask.” 

Vjera hesitated, and as she stood still the hand he 
held trembled nervously. 

“ I promise,” she said, at last, as though with a great 
effort. Then, all at once, she covered her eyes and 
leaned against the door-post. He laid his hand caress- 
ingly upon her shoulder. 

“ Is it so hard to say ? ” he asked, tenderly. 

“ Oh, but if it should ever be indeed true ! ” she 
moaned. “ If it should — if it should ! ” 

“What then? Shall we not he happy together? 
Will it not be even pleasant to remember these 
wretched years ? ” 

“ But if it should turn out so — oh, how can I ever 
be a fitting wife for you, how can I learn all that a 


46 


A cigabette-maker’s romance 


great lady must think, and do, and say? I shall be 
unworthy of you — of your new friends, of your new 
•world — but then, it cannot really happen. No — do 
not speak of it any more, it hurts me too much — good- 
night, good-night ! Let us sleep and forget, and go 
back to our work in the morning, as though nothing 
had happened — in the morning, to-morrow. Will you ? 
Then good-night.” 

“ There will be no work to-morrow,” he said, return- 
ing to his argument. But she broke away and fled from 
him and disappeared in the dark and narrow staircase. 
As he stood, he could hear her light tread on the 
creaking wood of the steps, fainter and fainter in the 
distance. Then he caught the feeble tinkle of a little 
bell, the opening and shutting of a door, and he was 
alone in the gloom of the evening. 

For some minutes he stood still, as though listening 
for some faint echo from the direction in which Vjera 
had disappeared, then he slowly and thoughtfully walked 
away. He had forgotten to eat at dinner-time, and 
now he forgot that the hour of the second meal had 
come round. He walked on, not knowing and not 
caring whither he went, absorbed in the contemplation 
of the bright pictures which framed themselves in his 
brain, troubled only by his ever-recurring wonder at 
Vj era’s behaviour. 

Unconsciously, and from sheer force of habit, he 
threaded the streets in the direction of the tobacconist’s 
shop where so much of his time was spent. If it be 
not true that the ghosts of the dead haunt places 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


47 


familiar to them in life, yet the superstition is founded 
upon the instincts of human nature. Men begin to 
haunt certain spots unconsciously while they are alive, 
especially those which they are obliged to visit every 
day and in which they are accustomed to sit, idle or at 
work, during the greater part of the week. The artist, 
when he wishes to be completely at rest, re-enters the 
studio he left but an hour earlier ; the sailor hangs about 
the port when he is ashore, the shopman cannot resist 
the temptation to spend an hour among his wares on 
Sunday, the farmer is irresistibly drawn to the field to 
while away the time on holidays between dinner and 
supper. We all of us see more and understand better 
what we see, in those surroundings most familiar to us, 
and it is a general law that the average intelligence 
likes the best that which it understands with the least 
effort. The mechanical part of us, too, when free from 
any direct and especial impulse of the mind, does un- 
knowingly what it has been in the habit of doing. 
Two-thirds of all the physical diseases in the world are 
caused by the disturbance of the mental habits, and are 
vastly aggravated by the direction of the thoughts to 
the part afflicted. Idiots and madmen are often phe- 
nomenally healthy people, because there is in their case 
no unnatural effort of the mind to control and manage 
the body. The Count having bestowed no thought 
upon the direction of his walk, mechanically turned 
towards the scene of his daily labour. 

Considering that he believed himself to have aban- 
doned for ever the irksome employment of rolling to- 


48 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


bacco in a piece of parchment in order to slip it into 
a piece of paper, it might have been supposed that he 
would be glad to look at anything rather than the 
glass door of the shop in which he had repeated that 
operation so many hundreds of thousands of times ; or, 
at least, it might have been expected that on realising 
where he was he would be satisfied with a glance of 
recognition and would turn away. 

But the Count’s fate had ordained otherwise. When 
he reached the shop the lights were burning brightly in 
the show window and within. Through the glass doer 
he could see that Fischelowitz was comfortably installed 
in a chair behind the counter, contentedly smoking one 
of his own best cigarettes, and smiling happily to him- 
self through the fragrant cloud. If the tobacconist’s 
wife had been present, the Count would have gone 
away without entering, for he did not like her, and 
had reason to suspect that she hated him, which was 
indeed the case. But Akulina wa^ nowhere to be 
seen, the shop looked bright and cheerful, the Count 
was tired, he pushed the door and entered. Fische- 
lowitz turned his head without modifying his smile, 
and seeing who his visitor was, nodded familiarly. 
The Count raised his hat a little from his head and * 
immediately replaced it. 

“ Good-evening, Herr Fischelowitz,” he said, speak- 
ing, as usual, in German. 

“Good-evening, Count,” answered the tobacconist, 
cheerfully. “ Sit down, and light a cigarette. What 
is the news ? ” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


49 


“ Great news with me, for to-morrow,” said the other, 
bending his head as he stooped over the nickel-plated 
lamp on the counter, in which a tiny flame burned for 
the convenience of customers. “ To-morrow, at this 
time, I shall be on my way to Petersburg.” 

“Well, I hope so, for your sake,” was the good- 
humoured reply. “ But I am afraid it will always be 
to-morrow, Herr Graf.” 

The Count shook his head after staring for a few 
seconds at his employer, and then smoked quietly, as 
though he attached no weight to the remark. Fische- 
lowitz looked curiously at him, and during a brief 
moment the smile faded from his face. 

“ You have not been long at supper,” he remarked, 
after a pause. The observation was suggested by the 
condition of his own appetite. 

“ Supper ? ” repeated the Count, rather vaguely. 
“I believe I had forgotten all about it. I will go 
presently.” 

“The Count is reserving himself for to-morrow,” 
said an ironical voice in the background. Akulina 
entered the shop from the workroom, a guttering 
candle in a battered candlestick in one hand, and a 
number of gaily coloured pasteboard boxes tucked 
under the other arm. “ What is the use of eating 
to-day when there will be so many good things to- 
morrow ? ” 

Neither Fischelowitz nor the Count vouchsafed 
any answer to this thrust. For the second time, 
since the Count had entered, however, the tobacconist 


50 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


wore an expression approaching to gravity. The Counc 
himself kept his composure admirably, only glancing 
coldly at Akulina, and then looking at his cigarette. 
Akulina is a broad, fat woman, with a flattened Tartar 
face, small eyes, good but short teeth, full lips and a 
dark complexion. She reminds one of an over-fed 
tabby cat, of doubtful temper, and her voice seems 
to reach utterance after traversing some thick, soft 
medium, which lends it an odd sort of guttural ricli- 
ness. She moves quietly but heavily and has an 
Asiatic second sight in the matter of finance. In 
matters of thrift and foresight her husband places 
implicit confidence in her judgment. In matters of 
generosity and kindness implying the use of money, 
he never consults her. 

“ It is amazing to see how much people will believe,” 
she said, putting out her candle and snuffing it with 
her thumb and forefinger. Then she began to arrange 
the boxes she had brought, setting them in order upon 
the shelves. Still neither of the men answered her. 
But she was not the woman to be reduced to silence 
by silence. 

“ I am always telling you that it is all rubbish,” she 
continued, turning a broad expanse of alpaca-covered 
back upon her audience. “I am always telling you 
that you are no more a count than Fischelowitz is a 
grand duke, that the whole thing is a foolish imagina- 
tion which you have stuck into your head, as one sticks 
tobacco into a paper shell. And it ought to be burned 
out of your head, or starved out, or knocked out, or 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


51 


something, for if it stays there it will addle your brains 
altogether. Why cannot you see that you are in the 
world just like other people, and give up all these 
ridiculous dreams and all this chatter about counts and 
princes and such-like people, of whom you never spoke 
to one in your life, for all you may say ? ” 

The Count glanced at the back of Akulina’s head, 
which was decently covered by a flattened twist of very 
shining black hair, and then he looked at Fischelowitz 
as though to inquire whether the latter would suffer a 
gentleman to be thus insulted in his presence and on 
his premises. Fischelowitz seemed embarrassed, and 
coloured a little. 

“ You might choose your language a little more care- 
fully, wife,” he observed in a rather timid tone. 

“ And you might choose your friends with a better 
view to your own interests,” she answered without 
hesitation. “ If you allow this sort of thing to go on, 
and four children growing up, and you expecting to 
open another shop this summer — why, you had better 
turn count yourself,” she concluded, triumphantly, 
and with that nice logical perception peculiar to her 
kind. 

“ If you mean to say that the Count’s valuable help 

has not been to our advantage ” began Fischelowitz, 

making a desperate effort to give a more pleasant look 
to things. 

“Oh, I know that,” laughed Akulina, scornfully. 
“ I know that the Count, as you call him, can make his 
two thousand a day as well as any one. I am not blind. 


62 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


And I know you, and I know that it is a sort of foolish 
pleasure to you to employ a count in the work and to 
pay your money to a count, though he does not earn it 
any better than any one else, nor any worse, to be just. 
And I know the Count, and I know his friends who 
borrow fifty marks of you and pay you back in stuffed 
dolls with tunes in them. I know you, Christian 
Gregorovitch ” — at the thought of the lost money 
Akulina broke at last into her native language and 
gave the reins to her fury in good Russian — ‘‘ yes, I 
know you, and him, and his friends and your friends, 
and I see the good yellow money flying out of the win- 
dow like a flight of canary birds when the cage is 
opened, and I see you grinning like Player-ape over 
the vile Vienna puppet, and winding up its abominable 
music as though you were turning the key upon your 
money in the safe instead of listening to the tune of its 
departure. And then because Akulina has the courage 
to tell you the truth, and to tell you that your fine 
Count is no count, and that his friends get from you 
ten times the money he earns, then you turn on me like 
a bear, ready to bite off my head, and 3^ou tell me to 
choose my language ! Is there no shame in you, Chris- 
tian Gregorovitch, or is there also no understanding ? 
Am I the mother of your four children or not ? I would 
like to ask. I suppose you cannot deny that, whatever 
else you deny which is true, and you tell me to choose 
my language ! i>a, I will choose my language, in 
truth ! i>a, I will choose out such a swarm of words 
as ought to sting your ears like hornets, if you had not 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


53 


such a leathery skin and such a soft brain inside it. 
But why should I ? It is thrown away. There is no 
shame in you. You see nothing, you care for nothing, 
you hear no reason, you feel no argument. I will go 
home and make soup. I am better there than in the 
shop. Oh, yes ! it is always that. Akulina can make 
good things to eat, and good tea and good punch to 
drink, and Akulina is the Archangel Michael in the 
kitchen. But if Akulina says to you, ‘ Save a penny 
here, do not lend more than you have there,’ Akulina 
is a fool and must be told to choose her language, lest 
it be too indelicate for the dandified ears of the high- 
born gentleman ! I should not wonder if, by choosing 
her language carefully enough, Akulina ended by mak- 
ing the high-born gentleman understand something after 
all. His perception cannot possibly be so dull as yours, 
Christian Gregorovitch, my little husband.” 

Akulina paused for breath after her tremendous 
invective, which, indeed, was only intended by her for 
the preface of the real discourse, so fertile Avas her 
imagination and so thoroughly roused was her elo- 
quence by the sense of injury received. While she 
was speaking, Fischelowitz, whose terror of his larger 
half was only relative, had calmly risen and had wound 
up the “Wiener Gigerl” to the extreme of the doll’s 
powers, placing it on the counter before him and sitting 
down before it in anticipation of the amusement he 
expected to derive from its performance. In the short 
silence which ensued while Akulina was resting her 
lungs for a second and more deadly effort, the wretched 


54 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


little musical box made itself heard, clicking and 
scratching and grinding out a miserable little polka. 
At the sound, the sunny smile returned to the tobac- 
conist’s face. He knew that no earthly eloquence, no 
scathing wit, no brutal reply could possibly exasperate 
his wife as this must. He resented everything she had 
said, and in his vulgar way he was ashamed that she 
should have said it before the Count, and now he was 
glad that by the mere turning of a key he could answer 
her storm of words in a way to drive her to fury, while 
at the same time showing his own indifference. As for 
the Count himself, he had moved nearer to the door and 
was looking quietly out into the irregularly lighted 
street, smoking as though he had not heard a word of 
what had been said. As he stood, it was impossible 
for either of the others to see his face, and he betrayed 
no agitation by movement or gesture. 

Akulina turned pale to the lips, as her husband had 
anticipated. It is probable that the most tragic event 
conceivable in her existence could not have affected 
her more powerfully than the twang of the musical box 
and the twisting and turning of the insolent little 
wooden head. She came round to the front of the 
counter with gleaming eyes and clenched fists. 

“ Stop that thing ! ” she cried. “ Stop it, or it will 
drive me mad.” 

Fischelowitz still smiled, and the doll continued to 
turn round and round to the tune, while the Count 
looked out through the open door. Suddenly there 
was a quick shadow on the brightly lighted floor of 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


55 


the shop, followed instantly by a crash, and then with 
a miserable attempt to finish its tune the little instru- 
ment gave a resounding groan and was silent. Aku- 
lina had struck the Gigerl such a blow as had sent it 
flying, pedestal and all, past her husband’s head into a 
dark corner behind the counter. Fischelowitz reddened 
with anger, and Akulina stood ready to take to flight, 
glad that the broad counter was between herself and 
her husband. Her fury had spent itself in one blow 
and she would have given an3^thing to set the doll up 
in its place again unharmed. She realised at the same 
instant that she had probably destroyed any intrinsic 
value which the thing possessed, and her face fell 
wofully. The Count turned slowly where he stood 
and looked at the couple. 

“ Are you going to fight each other ? ” he inquired 
in unusually bland tones. 

At the sound of his voice the Russian woman’s 
anger rose again, glad to find some new object upon 
which to expend itself and on which to exercise ven- 
geance for the catastrophe its last expression had 
brought about. She turned savagely upon the Count 
and shook her plump brown fists in his face. 

“ It is all your fault ! ” she exclaimed. “ What 
business have you to come between husband and 
wife with your friends and your cursed dolls, the 
fiend take them and you ! Is it for this that 
Christian Gregorovitch and I have lived together in 
harmony these ten years and more ? Is it for this 
that we have lived without a word of anger ” 


66 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ What did you say ? ” asked Fischelowitz, with an 
angry laugh. But she did not heed him. 

“ Without a word of anger between us, these many 
years ? ” she continued. “ Is it for this ? To have our 
peace destroyed by a couple of Wiener Gigerls, a doll 
and a sham count ? But it is over now ! It is over, 
I tell you — go, get yourself out of the shop, out of my 
sight, into the street where you belong! For honest 
folks to be harbouring such a fellow as you are, and 
not you only, but your friends and your rag and your 
tag! Fie! If you stay here long we shall end in 
dust and feathers ! But you shall not stay here, 
whatever that soft-brained husband of mine says. 
You shall go and never come back. Do you think 
that in all Munich there is no one else who will do 
the work for three marks a thousand? Bah! there 
are scores, and honest people, too, who call themselves 
by plain names and speak plainly! None of your 
counts and your grand dukes and your Lord-knows- 
whats ! Go, you adventurer, you disturber of — why 
do you look at me like that? I have always known 
the truth about you, and I have never been able to bear 
the sight of you and never shall. You have deceived 
my husband, poor man, because he is not as clever as 
he is good-natured, but you never could deceive me, 
try as you would, and the Lord knows, you have tried 
often enough. Pah! You good-for-nothing! ” 

The poor Count had drawn back against the well- 
filled shop and had turned deadly pale as she heaped 
insult upon insult upon him in her incoherent and 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


57 


foul-mouthed anger. As soon as she paused, exhausted 
by the effort to find epithets to suit her hatred of him, 
he went up to the counter where Fischelowitz was sitting 
very much disturbed at the course events were taking. 

“ My dear Count,” began the latter, anxious to set 
matters right, “pray do not pay any attention ” 

“I think I had better say good-bye,” answered the 
Count in a low tone. “We part on good terms, though 
you might have said a word for me just now.” 

“ He dare not ! ” cried Akulina. 

“ And as for the doll, if you will give it to me, I 
promise you that you shall have your fifty marks 
to-morrow.” 

“Oho! He knows where to get fifty marks now! ” 
exclaimed Akulina, viciously. 

Fischelowitz picked up the puppet, which was 
broken in two in the waist, so that the upper half of 
the body hung down by the legs, in a limp fashion, 
held only by the little red coat. The tobacconist 
wrapped it up in a piece of newspaper without a word 
and handed it to the Count. He felt perhaps that the 
only atonement he could olfer for his wife’s brutal 
conduct was to accede to the request. 

“Thank you,” said the Count, taking the thing. 
“ On the word of a gentleman you shall have the money 
before to-morrow night.” 

“ A good riddance of both of them,” snarled Akulina, 
as the Count lifted his hat and then, his head bent more 
than was his wont, passed out of the shop with the 
remains of the poor Gigerl under his arm. 


CHAPTER IV 


The Count had no precise object in view when he 
hurriedly left the shop with the parcel containing the 
broken doll. What he most desired for the moment 
was to withdraw himself from the storm of Akulina’s 
abuse, seeing that he had no means of checking the 
torrent, nor of exacting satisfaction for the insults 
received. However he might have acted had the ag- 
gressor been a man, he was powerless when attacked by 
a woman, and he was aware that he had followed the 
only course which had in it anything of dignity and 
self-respect. To stand and bandy words and epithets 
of abuse would have been worse than useless, to treat 
the tobacconist like a gentleman and to hold him re- 
sponsible for his wife’s language would have been more 
than absurd. So the Count took the remains of the 
puppet and went on his way. 

He was not, however, so superior to good and bad 
treatment as not to feel deeply wounded and thoroughly 
roused to anger. Perhaps, if he had been already in 
possession of the fortune and dignity which he expected 
on the morrow, he might have smiled contemptuously 
at the virago’s noisy wrath, feeling nothing and caring 
even less what she felt towards him. But he had too 
long been poor and wretched to bear with equanimity 
any reference to his wretchedness or his poverty, and 
58 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


59 


he was too painfully conscious of the weight of outward 
circumstances in determining men’s judgments of their 
fellows not to be stung by the words that had been so 
angrily applied to him. Moreover, and worst of all, there 
was the fact that Fischelowitz had really lent the money 
to a poor countryman who had previously made the 
acquaintance of the Count, and had by that means 
induced the tobacconist to help him. It was true, 
indeed, that the poor Count had himself lent the fellow 
all he had in his pocket, which meant all that he had 
in the world, and had been half starved in consequence 
during a whole week. The man was an idle vagabond 
of the worst type, with a pitiful tale of woe well worded 
and logically put together, out of which he made a 
good livelihood. Nature, as though to favour his de- 
signs, had given him a face which excited sympathy, 
and he had the wit to cover his eyes, his own tell-tale 
feature, with coloured glasses. He had cheated several 
scores of persons in the Slav colony of Munich, and 
had then gone in search of other pastures. How he 
had obtained possession of the Wiener Gigerl was a 
mystery as yet unsolved. It had certainly seemed odd 
in the tobacconist’s opinion that a man of such outward 
appearance should have received such an extremely 
improbable Christmas present, for such the adventurer 
declared the doll to be, from a rich aunt in Warsaw, 
who refused to give him a penny of ready money and 
had caused him to be turned from her doors by her 
servants when he had last visited her, on the ground 
that he had joined the Russian Orthodox Church with- 


60 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

out her consent. The facetious young villain had in- 
deed declared that she had sent him the puppet as a 
piece of scathing irony, illustrative of his character as 
she conceived it. But though such an illustration 
would have been apt beyond question, yet it seemed 
improbable that the aunt would have chosen such a 
means of impressing it upon her nephew’s mind. Fi- 
schelowitz, however, asked no questions, and took the 
Gigerl as payment of the debt. The thing amused 
him, and it diverted him to construct an imaginary 
chain of circumstances to explain how the man in the 
coloured glasses had got possession of it. It was of 
course wholly inconceivable that even the most accom- 
plished shop-lifter should have carried off an object of 
such inconvenient proportions from the midst of its 
fellows and under the very eyes of the vendor. If he 
had supposed a theft possible, Fischelowitz would 
never have allowed the doll to remain on his premises 
a single day. He was too kind-hearted, also, to blame 
the Count, as his wife did, for having been the pro- 
moter of the loan, for he readily admitted that he 
would have lent as much, had he made the vagabond’s 
acquaintance under any other circumstances. 

But the Count, since Akulina had expressed herself 
with so much force and precision, could not look upon 
the affair in the same light. However Fischelowitz 
regarded it, Akulina had made it clear that the Count 
ought to be held responsible for the loss, and it was 
not in the nature of such a man, no matter how 
wretched his own estate, to submit to the imputation 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


61 


of being concerned in borrowing money which was 
never to be repaid. His natural impulse had been to 
promise repayment instantly, as he was expecting to be 
turned into a rich man on the morrow the engagement 
seemed an easy one to keep. It would be more diffi- 
cult to explain why he wanted to take away the broken 
puppet with him. Possibly he felt that in removing it 
from the shop he was taking with it even the memory 
of the transaction of which the blame had been so 
bitterly thrown on him; or, possibly, he was really 
attached to the toy for its associations, or, lastly, he 
may have felt impelled to save it from Akulina’s 
destroying wrath, so far as it yet could be said to be 
saved. 

As has been said, he had not dined on that day, and 
he would very probably have forgotten to eat, even 
after being reminded of the meal by the tobacconist, 
had he not passed, on his way homeward, the obscure 
restaurant in which he and the other men who worked 
for Fischelowitz were accustomed to get their food 
and drink. This fifth-rate eating-house rejoiced in the 
attractive name of the “Green Wreath,” a designation 
painted in large dusty green Gothic letters upon the 
grey walls of the dilapidated house in which it was 
situated. There are not to be found in respectable 
Munich those dens of filth and drunkenness which 
belong to greater cities whose vices are in proportion 
greater also. In Munich the strength of fiery spirits 
is drowned in oceans of mild beer, a liquid of which 
the head will stand more than the waist-band and 


62 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


which, instead of exciting to crime, predisposes the 
consumer to peaceful and lengthened sleep. The 
worst that can be said of the poorer public-houses in 
Munich, is that they are frequented by the poorer 
people, and that as the customers bring less money 
than elsewhere, there is less drinking in proportion, 
and a greater demand for large quantities of very fill- 
ing food at very low rates. As a general rule, such 
places are clean and decently kept, and the sight of a 
drunken man in the public room would excite very 
considerable astonishment, besides entailing upon the 
culprit a summary expulsion into the street and a 
rather forcible injunction not to repeat the offence. 

The four windows of the establishment which opened 
upon the narrow street were open, for the weather had 
become sultry even out of doors, and the guests wanted 
fresh air. At one of these windows the Count saw 
the heads of Dumnoff and Schmidt. With the instinct 
of the poor man, the Count felt in his pocket to see 
whether he had any money, and was somewhat dis- 
turbed to find but a solitary piece of silver, feebly 
supported on either side by a couple of one-penny 
pieces. He had forgotten that he had refused to 
accept his pay for the day’s work, and it required an 
effort of memory to account for the low state of his 
funds. But what he had with him was sufficient for 
his wants, and settling his parcel under his arm he 
ascended the three or four steps which gave access to 
the inn, and entered the public room. Besides the 
Russian and the Cossack, there were three public 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 63 

porters seated at the next table, dressed in their blue 
blouses, their red cloth caps hanging on the pegs over 
their heads, all silent and similarly engaged. Each 
had before him a piece of that national cheese of which 
the smell may almost be heard, each had lately received 
a thick, irregularly shaped hunch of dark bread, and 
they had one pot of beer and one salt-cellar amongst 
them. They all had honest German faces, honest blue 
eyes, horny hands and round shoulders. Another 
table, in a far corner, was occupied by a poorly dressed 
old woman in black, dusty and evidently tired. A 
covered basket stood on a chair at her elbow, she was 
eating an unwholesome-looking “ knodel ” or boiled 
potato-ball, and half a pint of beer stood before her 
still untouched. As for the Cossack and Dumnoff, 
they had finished their meal. The former was smok- 
ing a cigarette through a mouthpiece made by boring- 
out the well-dried leg-bone of a chicken and Avas drink- 
ing nothing. Dumnoff had before him a small glass of 
the common whiskey known as “ corn-brandy ” and was 
trying to give it a flavour resembling the vodka of his 
native land by stirring pepper into it with the blade of 
an old pocket-knife. Both looked up, without betray- 
ing any surprise, as the Count entered and sat himself 
down at the end of their oblong table, facing the open 
window and with his back to the room. A word of 
greeting passed on each side and the two relapsed into 
silence, while the Count ordered a sausage “ with horse- 
radish ” of the sour-sweet maiden of five-and-thirty who 
waited on the guests. The Cossack, always observant 


64 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


of such things, looked at the oddly shaped package 
which the Count had brought with him, trying to 
divine its contents and signally failing in the attempt. 
Dumnoff, who did not like the Count’s gentlemanlike 
manners and fine speech, sullenly stirred the fiery mix- 
ture he was concocting. The colour on his prominent 
cheek-bones was a little brighter than before supper, 
but otherwise it was impossible to say that he was the 
worse for the half-pint of spirits he had certainly 
absorbed since leaving his work. The man’s strong 
peasant nature was proof against far greater excesses 
than his purse could afford. 

“What is the news?” inquired Johann Schmidt, 
still eyeing the bundle curiously, and doubtless hoping 
that the Count would soon inform him of the contents. 
But the latter saw the look and glanced suspiciously 
at the questioner. 

“No news, that I know of,” he answered. “Except 
for me,” he added, after a pause, and looking dreamily 
out of the window at a street lamp that was burning 
opposite. “ To-morrow, at this time, I shall be off.” 

“And where are you going?” asked the Cossack, 
good-humouredly. “ Are you going for long, if I may 
ask ? ” 

“Yes — yes. I shall never come back to Munich.” 
He had been speaking in German, but noticing that 
the other guests in the room were silent, and thinking 
that they might listen, he broke off into Russian. “ I 
shall go home, at last,” he said, his face brightening 
perceptibly as his visions of wealth again rose before 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 65 

his eyes. “ I shall go home and rest myself for a long 
time in the country, and then, next winter, perhaps, 
I will go to Petersburg.” 

“Well, well, I wish you a pleasant journey,” said 
Schmidt. “ So there is to be no mistake about the 
fortune this time ? ” 

“ This time ? ” repeated the Count, as though not 
understanding. “ Why do you say this time ? ” 

“ Because you have so often expected it before,” 
returned the Cossack bluntly, but without malice. 

“ I do not remember ever saying so,” said the other, 
evidently searching among his recollections. 

“ Every Tuesday,” growled Dumnoff, sipping his 
peppery liquor. “ Every Tuesday since I can re- 
member.^” 

“ I think you must be mistaken,” said the Count, 
politely. 

Dumnoff grunted something quite incomprehensible, 
and which might have been taken for the clearing of 
his huge throat after the inflaming draught. The 
Cossack was silent, and his bright eyes looked pityingly 
at his companion. 

“ And you have begun to put together your parcels 
for the journey, I see,” he observed after a time, when 
the Count had got his morsel of food and was begin- 
ning to eat it. His curiosity gave him no rest. 

“Yes,” answered the Count, mysteriously. “That 
is something which I shall probably take with me, as 
a remembrance of Munich.” 

“ I should not have thought that you needed any- 


66 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


thing more than a cigarette to remind you of the 
place,” remarked Dumnoff. 

The Count smiled faintly, for, considering Dumnoff’s 
natural dulness, the remark had a savour of wit in it. 

“ That is true,” he said. “ But there are other things 
which could remind me even more forcibly of my 
exile.” 

“Well, what is it? Tell us ! ” cried Dumnoff, im- 
patiently enough, but somewhat softened by the Count’s 
appreciation of his humour. At the same time he put 
out his broad red hand in the direction of the parcel 
as though he would see for himself. 

“Let it be!” said Schmidt, sharply, and Dumnoff 
withdrew his hand again. He had fallen into the 
habit of always doing what the Cossack told him to 
do, obeying mutely, like a well-trained dog, though he 
obeyed no one else. The descendant of freemen in- 
stinctively lorded it over the descendant of the serf, 
and the latter as instinctively submitted. 

The Count’s temper, however, was singularly change- 
able on this day, for he did not seem to resent Dum- 
noff’s meditated attack upon the package, as he would 
certainly have done under ordinary circumstances. 

“If you are so very curious to know what it is, I 
will tell you,” he said. “ You know the Wiener 
Gigerl ? ” 

“ Of course,” answered both men together. 

“ Well, that is it, in that parcel.” 

“The Gigerl!” exclaimed the Cossack. Dumnoff 
only opened his small eyes in stupid amazement. Both 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


67 


knew something of the circumstances under which 
Fischelowitz had come into possession of the doll, and 
both knew what store the tobacconist set by it. 

“ Then you Iiave paid the fifty marks ? ” asked 
Schmidt, whose curiosity was roused instead of satis- 
fied. 

“No. I shall pay the money to-morrow. I have 
promised to do so. As it chances, it will be con- 
venient.” The Count smiled to himself in a meaning 
way, as though already enjoying the triumph of laying 
the gold pieces upon the counter under Akulina’s flat 
nose. 

“ And yet Fischelowitz has already given it to you ! 

He must be very sure of you ” With his usual 

lack of tact, Schmidt had gone further than he meant 
to do, but the transaction savoured of the marvellous. 

“ To be strictly truthful,” said the Count, who had 
a Quixotic fear of misleading in the smallest degree any 
one to whom he was speaking, “ to be exactly honest, 
there is a circumstance which makes it less remarkable 
that Fischelowitz should have given me the doll at once.” 

“ Of course, of course ! ” exclaimed the Cossack, 
anxious to appear credulous out of kindness. “ Fische- 
lowitz knows as well as you do yourself how safe you 
are to get the money to-morrow.” 

“ Naturally,” replied the Count, with great calmness. 
“ But besides that, the Gigerl is broken — badly broken 
in the middle, and the musical box is spoiled too.” 

“ Fischelowitz must have been very angry,” observed 
Dumnoff. 


68 


A cigakette-maker’s romance 


“Not at all. It was bis wife. Akulina knocked it 
from the counter into the farthest corner of the shop.” 

“ Tell us all about it,” said Schmidt, more interested 
than ever. 

“ Ah, that — that is quite another matter,” answered 
the Count, reddening perceptibly as he remembered 
Akulina’s furious abuse. 

“ If you do not, I have no doubt that she will,” said 
Dumnoff, taking another sip. “ She always gives the 
news of you, before you come in the morning, before 
we have made our first hundred.” 

The Count grew redder still, the angry colour mant- 
ling in his lean cheeks. He hesitated a moment, and 
then made up his mind. 

“ If that is likely to happen,” he cried, “ I had better 
tell you the truth myself, instead of giving her an 
opportunity of distorting it.” 

“ Much better,” said the Cossack, eagerly. “ One can 
believe you better than her.” 

“That is true, at all events,” chimed in Dumnoff, 
who was only brutal and never malicious. 

“Well, it happened in this way. Fischelowitz and 
I were talking of to-morrow, I think, when she came 
in from the back shop, having overheard something we 
had been saying. Of course she immediately took 
advantage of my presence to exercise her wit upon me, 
a proceeding to which I have grown accustomed, seeing 
that she is only a woman. Then Fischelowitz told her 
to choose her language, and that started her afresh. It 
was rather a fine specimen of chosen language that she 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


69 


gave us, for she has a good command of our beautiful 
mother-tongue. She found very strong words, and 
she said among other things that it was my fault that 
her husband had got a Wiener Gigerl for fifty marks of 
good money. And then Fischelowitz, in his easy way 
and while she was talking, wound the doll up and set 
it before him on the counter and smiled at it. But 
she went on, worse than before, and called me every- 
thing under the sun. Of course I could do nothing but 
wait until she had finished, for I could not beat her, 
and I would not let her think that she could drive me 
away by mere talk, bad as it was.” 

“ What did she call you ? ” asked Dumnoff, with a grin. 

“ She called me a good-for-nothing,” said the Count, 
reddening with anger again, so that the veins stood out 
on his throat above his collar. “ And she called me, I 
think, an adventurer.” 

“ Is that all ? ” laughed Dumnoff. “ I have been 
called by worse names than that in my time ! ” 

“ I have not,” answered the Count, with sudden cool- 
ness. “ However, between me and Fischelowitz and 
the Gigerl, she grew so angry that she struck the only 
one of us three against whom she dared lift hand. 
That member of the company chanced to be the unfor- 
tunate doll. And then I promised that to-morrow I 
would pay the money, and I made Fischelowitz give it 
to me in a piece of newspaper, and there it is.” 

“ What a terrible smash there must have been in the 
shop ! ” said Dumnoff. “ I would liko to have seen 
the lady’s face.” 


70 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


In their Russian speech, the difference between the 
original social standing of the three men who now 
worked as equals, was well defined by their way of 
speaking of Fischelowitz’s wife. To Dumnoff, mujik 
by origin and by nature, she was “ barina,” the town 
“ lady,” to the Cossack she was “ chosjaika,” the “ mis- 
tress,” the wife of the “ patron ” — to the Count she 
was Akulina, and when he addressed her he called 
her Akulina Feodorovna, adding the derivative of her 
father’s name in accordance with the universal Russian 
custom. 

“ Let us see the doll,” said Schmidt, still curious. 
The Count, whose eating had been interrupted by the 
telling of his story, pushed the parcel towards the Cos- 
sack with one hand, while using his fork with the other. 

Johann Schmidt carefully unwrapped the newspaper 
and exposed the unfortunate Gigerl to view. Then 
with both hands he set it up before him, raising the 
limp figure from the waist, and trying to put it into 
position, until it almost recovered something of its old 
look of insolence, though the eye-glass was broken and 
the little white hat sadly battered. The three men 
contemplated it in silence, and the other guests turned 
curious glances towards it. Dumnoff, as usual, laughed 
hoarsely. 

“ Rather the worse for wear,” he observed. 

“ Kreuzmillionendonnerwetter ! That is my Gigerl ! ” 
roared a deep German voice across the room. 

The three Russians started and looked round quickly. 
One of the porters, a burly man with an angry scowl 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 71 

on his honest face, was already on his legs and was 
striding towards the table. 

“ That is my Gigerl ! ” he repeated, laying one 
heavy hand upon the board, and thrusting the fore- 
finger of the other under the doll’s nose. 

Dumnoff stared at him with an expression which 
showed that he did not in the least understand what 
was happening. Johann Schmidt’s keen black eyes 
looked wonderingly from the porter to the Count, while 
the latter leaned back in his chair, contemplating the 
angry man with a calm surprise which proved how 
little faith he placed in the assertion of possession. 

“You are under a mistake,” he said, with great 
politeness. “ This doll is the property of Herr Fische- 
lowitz, the well-known tobacconist, and has stood in 
the window of his shop nearly four months. These 
gentlemen ” — he waved his hand towards his two 
companions — “ are well aware of the fact and can 
vouch ” 

“ That is all the same to me,” interrupted the porter. 
“ This is the Gigerl which was stolen from me on New 
Year’s eve ” 

“ I repeat,” said the Count, with dignity, “ that you 
are altogether mistaken. I will trouble you to leave 
us in peace and to make no more disturbance, where 
you are evidently in error.” 

His coolness exasperated the porter, who seemed 
very sure of what he asserted. 

“ That is what we shall see,” he retorted in a menac- 
ing tone. “ Meanwhile it does not occur to me to 


72 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


leave you in peace and to make no more trouble. I 
tell you that this Gigerl was stolen from me on New 
Year’s eve. I know it well enough, for I had to pay 
for it.” 

“ How can you prove that this is the one ? ” inquired 
the Cossack, who was beginning to lose his temper. 

“ You have nothing to say about it,” said the porter, 
sharply. “ I have to do with this man ” — he pointed 
down at the Count — “ who has brought the doll here, 
and pretends to know where it comes from.” 

“ Kerl ! ” exclaimed the Count, angrily. “ Fellow ! 
I am not accustomed to being called ‘ man,’ or to hav- 
ing my word doubted. You had better be civil.” 

“ Then it is high time that you grew used to it,” 
returned the porter, growing more and more excited. 
“ The police do not overwhelm fellows of your kind 
with politeness.” 

“ Fellows ?” cried the Count, losing his self-control 
altogether at being called by the name he had just 
applied to the porter. Without a moment’s hesitation, 
he sprang from his chair, upsetting it behind him, and 
took the burly German by the throat. 

“ Call a policeman, Anton ! ” shouted the latter to 
one of his companions, as he closed with his antagonist. 

The two other porters had risen from their places 
as soon as the Count had laid his hands on their friend, 
and the one who answered to the name of Anton 
promptly trotted towards the door, his heavy tread 
making the whole room shake as he ran. The other 
came up quickly and attacked the Count from behind. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


73 


when Dumnoff, aroused at last to the pleasant con- 
sciousness that a real fight was going on, brought 
down his clenched fist with such earnestness of purpose 
on the top of the second porter’s crown that the latter 
reeled backwards and fell across the Count’s chair in 
an attitude rendered highly uncomfortable by the fact 
that the said chair had been turned upside down at 
the beginning of the contest. Having satisfied him- 
self that the blow had taken effect, Dumnoff proceeded 
to the other side of the field of battle, avoiding the 
quickly moving bodies of the Count and the porter 
as they wrestled with each other, and the mujik pre- 
pared to deal another sledge-hammer blow, in all re- 
spects comparable with the first. A pleasant smile 
beamed and spread over his broad, bony face as he 
lifted his fist, and it is comparatively certain that he 
would have put an effectual end to the struggle, had 
not Schmidt interfered with the execution of his amia- 
ble intentions by catching his arm in mid-air. Even 
the Cossack’s wiry strength could not arrest the descent 
of the tremendous fist, but he succeeded at least in 
diverting it from its aim, so that it took effect in the 
middle of the porter’s back, knocking most of the wind 
out of the man’s body and causing a diversion favour- 
able to the Count’s security. Schmidt sprang in and 
separated the combatants. 

“ There has been enough dancing already,” he said, 
coolly, as he faced the porter, who was gasping for 
breath. “ But if you have not danced enough, I shall 
be happy to take a turn with you round the room.” 


74 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

The poor Count would, indeed, have been no match 
for his adversary without the assistance of his friends. 
He possessed that sort of courage which, when stung 
into activity by an insult, takes no account whatever 
of the consequences, and his thin frame was animated 
by very excitable nerves. But an exceedingly lean 
diet, and the habit of sitting during many hours in a 
close atmosphere, rolling tobacco with his fingers, did 
not constitute such a physical training as to make him 
a match for a rough fellow whose occupation consisted 
in tramping long distances and up and down long 
flights of stairs from morning till night, loaded with 
more or less heavy burdens. He was now very pale 
and his heart beat painfully as he endeavoured in- 
stinctively to smooth his long frock-coat, from which 
a button had been torn out by the roots in a very 
apparent place, and to settle his starched collar, which 
at the best of times owed its stability to the secret 
virtues of a pin, and which at present had made a 
quarter of a revolution upon itself, so that the stiffly 
starched corners, the Count’s chief coquetry and pride, 
had established themselves in an unseemly manner 
immediately below the left ear. 

Meanwhile, the little restaurant was in an uproar. 
The host, a thin, pale man in an apron and a shabby 
embroidered cap, had suddenly appeared from the 
depths of the taproom, accompanied by his wife, a 
monstrous, red-faced creature clothed in a grey flannel 
frock. The j)orter whom Dumnoff had felled, and who 
was not altogether stunned, was kicking violently in 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


75 


the attempt to gain his feet among the fallen chairs, 
a dozen people had come in from the street at the noise 
of the fight and stood near the door, phlegmatically 
watching the proceedings, and the poor old woman 
from the country, who had been supping in the corner, 
had got her basket on her knees, holding its handle 
tightly in one hand and with the other grasping her 
half-finished glass of beer, in terror lest some accident 
should cause the precious liquid to he spilled, but not 
calm enough to put it in a place of safety by the 
simple process of swallowing. 

“They are foreigners,” remarked some one in the 
crowd at the door. 

“ They are probably Bohemian journeymen,” said a 
tinman who stood in front of the others. “ It serves 
them right for interfering with an honest porter.” 
The Bohemian journeymen are detested in Munich 
on account of their willingness to work for low prices, 
which perhaps accounted for the tinman’s readiness to 
consider the strangers as worsted in the contest. 

“We Germans fear God, and nothing else in the 
world,” observed a mealy faced shoemaker, quoting 
Prince Bismarck’s famous speech. 

The man who had wrestled with the Count seemed 
to have resigned himself to the course of awaiting the 
police, and leaned back against the table behind him, 
with folded arms, glaring at the Cossack, while the 
Count was vainly attempting to recover possession of 
the pin which had fastened his collar, and which he 
evidently suspected of having slipped down his back, 


76 A CIGARETTE-MAKER^S ROMANCE 

with the total depravity peculiar to all inanimate 
things when they are most needed. But the second 
porter, having broken the chair, upset a table covered 
with unused saucers for beer glasses, and otherwise 
materially contributed to swell the din and increase 
the already considerable havoc, had regained his feet 
and lost no time in making for Dumnoff. The Russian, 
enchanted at the prospect of a renewal of hostilities so 
unfortunately interrupted, met the newcomer half-way, 
and, each embracing the other with cheerful alacrity, 
the two heavy men began to stamp and turn round 
and round with each other like a couple of particularly 
awkward bears attempting to waltz together. They 
were very evenly matched for a wrestling bout, for 
although the German was by a couple of inches the 
taller of the two, the Russian had the advantage in 
breadth of shoulder and length of arm, as well as in 
the enormous strength of his back. The Cossack, 
having assured himself that there was to be fair-play, 
watched the proceedings with evident interest, while 
the pale-faced host shambled round and round the 
room, imploring the combatants to respect the reputa- 
tion of his house and to desist, while keeping himself 
at a safe distance from possible collision with the 
bodies of the two, as they staggered and strained, and 
reeled and whirled about. 

The Count at last abandoned the search for the lost 
pin, and having pulled the front of his collar into a 
more normal position trusted to luck to keep it there. 
The table at which the three had originally sat had 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 77 

miraculously escaped upsetting, and on it lay the poor 
Gigerl, stretched at full length on its back, calm and 
smiling in the midst of the noise and confusion, like 
the corpse at an Irish wake after the whiskey has 
begun to take effect. 

The Count now thought it necessary to justify the 
unfortunate situation in which he found himself, in the 
judgment of the spectators. 

‘‘Gentlemen,” he began, very earnestly and with a 
dignified gesture, “ I feel it necessary to explain the 

truth of this ” But he was interrupted by the 

arrival of a policeman, who pushed his way through 
the crowd. 


CHAPTER V 


“What is this row?” inquired the policeman in his 
official voice, as he marched into the room. 

The man who was wrestling with Dumnoff was a 
German and a soldier. At the authoritative words he 
relaxed his hold and made an effort to free himself, 
a movement of which the Russian instantly took ad- 
vantage by throwing his adversary heavily, upsetting 
another table and thereby bringing the confusion to 
its crisis. How far he would have gone if he had 
been left to himself is uncertain, for the sudden ap- 
pearance of two more men in green coats, helmets 
and gold collars so emboldened the spectators of the 
fight that they advanced in a body just as Dumnoff 
threw himself upon the first policeman. The Russian’s 
red face was wet with perspiration, his small eyes 
were gleaming ferociously and his thick hair hung in 
tangled locks over his forehead, producing with his 
fair beard the appearance of a wild animal’s mane. 
But for the timely assistance of his colleagues, the 
representatives of the law and, most likely, the major- 
ity of the spectators, would have found themselves 
in the street in an exceedingly short space of time. 
But Dumnoff yielded to the inevitable ; a couple of 
well-planted blows delivered by the rescuing party 
on the sides of his thick skull made him shake his 


78 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


79 


head as a cat does when its nose is sprinkled with 
water, and the mujik reluctantly relinquished the 
struggle. At the same time the porter who had 
claimed the doll came forward and touched his bare 
head with a military salute. 

What is your name ? ” asked the first policeman, 
anxious to get to business. 

“Jacob Goggelmann, Dienstmann number 87, for- 
merly private in the Fourth Artillery, lately mes- 
senger in the Thiiringer Doll Manufactory.” 

“Very good,” said the policeman, anxious to take 
the side of his countryman from the first, and certainly 
justified in doing so by the circumstances. “ And what 
is your complaint ? ” 

“ That doll, there, on the table,” said the porter, 
“was stolen from me on New Year’s eve, and now that 
man ” — he pointed to the Count, who stood stiffly 
looking on — “that man has got possession of it.” 

“ And who stole it from you ? ” inquired the police- 
man with that acuteness in the art of cross-examina- 
tion for which the police are in all countries so justly 
famous. 

“ Ja, Herr Wachtmeister, if I had known that ” 

suggested the porter. 

“ Of course, of course,” interrupted the other. “ That 
man stole the doll from you, you say ? ” 

“ Somebody stole it with my basket, as I stopped to 
drink a measure in the yard of the Hofbrauhaus, and I 
had to pay for it out of my caution money, and I lost my 
place into the bargain, and there lies the accursed thing.” 


80 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


The policeman, apparently quite satisfied with the 
porter’s story, turned upon the Count with a blustering 
and overbearing manner. 

“Now, then,” he said roughly, “give an account of 
yourself. Who are you and what are you doing here ? 
But that is a foolish question ; I know already that you 
are a Bohemian and a journeyman tinker.” 

“ A Bohemian ? And a journeyman tinker ? ” re- 
peated the Count, almost speechless with anger for a 
moment. “ I am neither,” he added, endeavouring to 
control himself, and settling his refractory collar with 
one hand. “I am a Russian gentleman.” 

“A gentleman — and a Russian,” said the policeman, 
slowly, as though putting no faith in the first state- 
ment and very little in the second. “ I think I can 
provide you with a lodging for the night,” he added, 
facetiously. 

“ Slip past me, jump out of the window and run ! ” 
whispered the Cossack in the Count’s ear, in Russian. 

“What are you saying in your infernal language?” 
asked the official. 

“ My friend advised me to run away,” said the Count, 
coolly sitting down, as though he were master of the 
situation. “ Unfortunately for me, I was not taught 
to use my legs in that way when I was a boy.” 

“I was,” said the Cossack. “Good-evening, Master 
Policeman.” He took his hat from the peg on the 
wall where it had hung undisturbed throughout the 
confusion, and bowing gravely to the man in uniform 
made as though he would go out of the room. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 81 

“ So, so, not quite so fast, my friend,” said the police- 
man, putting himself in the way. “ Heigh ! heigh ! 
Stop him ! Don’t let him go,” he bawled, a second 
later. 

Schmidt had paused a minute, watching his oppor- 
tunity, then, taking a quick step backwards, he had 
vaulted through the open window with the agility 
of a cat, and was flying down the empty street at 
the speed only attainable by that deceptive domestic 
animal when pressed for time and anxious for its own 
safety. 

“ Sobaka ! ” growled Dumnoff, disgusted at his com- 
panion’s defection. 

“ Either talk in a language that human beings can 
understand, or do not talk at all,” said one of the two 
men who guarded him. 

Seeing that pursuit was useless, the spokesman of 
the police turned to the Count, twice as blustering and 
terrible as before. 

“This settles the question,” he said. “To the police 
station you go, you and your bear-man of an accom- 
plice. Potzbombardendonnerwetter ! You Sapper- 
mentskerls ! I will teach you to resist the police, to 
steal dolls and to jump out of windows ! Now then, 
right about face — march ! ” 

The Count did not stir from his chair. Dumnoff 
looked at him as though to ask instructions of a 
superior. 

“ If you can manage one of them, I can take these 
two,” he said in Russian. Suiting the action to the 


82 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

word, he suddenly bent down, slipped his arms round 
the legs of the two policemen, hurled them simultane- 
ously head over heels and then charged the crowd, head 
downwards, upsetting every one who came in his way, 
and bursting into the street by sheer superior weight 
and impetus. An instant later, his shock head ap- 
peared at the window through which the Cossack had 
escaped. 

“ Come along ! ” he shouted to the Count, in his own 
language. “I have locked the street door and they 
cannot get out. Jump through the window.” 

“Go, my friend,” answered the Count, calmly. “I 
will not run away.” 

“You had much better come,” insisted Dumnoff, 
apparently indifferent to the noise of the crowd as it 
tried to force open the closed door, and shaking off two 
or three men who had made their way out into the 
street with him. He held the key in one hand, and 
his assailants had small chance of getting it away. 

“You will not come?” he repeated. But the 
Count shook his head, within the room. 

“Then I will not run away either,” said Dumnoff, 
the good side of his dull nature showing itself at last. 
With the utmost indifference to consequences he 
returned to the door, unlocked it, and strode through 
the midst of the people, who made way readily enough 
before him, after their late painful experience of his 
manner of making way for himself. 

“I have changed my mind,” he said, in German, 
quietly placing himself between his late keepers, who 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 83 

were alternately rubbing themselves and brushing the 
dust off each other’s clothes after their tumble. 

In the astonished silence which succeeded Dumnoff’s 
return, the Count’s voice was heard again. 

“I am both anxious and ready to explain every- 
thing, if you will do me the civility to listen,” he said. 
“ The doll is the property of Herr Fischelowitz, the 

well-known tobacconist ” 

“We shall see presently what you have to say for 
yourself,” interrupted the policeman. “We have had 
enough of these devilish fellows. Come, put them in 
handcuffs and off with them. And you three gentle- 
men,” he added, turning to the three porters, “will 
have the goodness to accompany us to the station, in 
order to give your evidence.” 

“ But my furniture and my beer saucers ! ” ex- 
claimed the pallid host, suddenly remembering his 
losses. “ Who is to pay for them ? ” 

The Count answered the question for him. 

“ You, Master Host, who know us and have had 
our regular custom for years, but who have not dared 
to say a word in our defence throughout this disgrace- 
ful affair, you, I say, deserve to lose all that you have 
lost. Nevertheless, I can assure you that I will myself 
pay for what has been broken.” 

The host was not much consoled by this magnani- 
mous promise, which was received with jeers by the 
crowd. There was no time, however, to discuss the 
question. Dumnoff had quietly submitted his two 
huge fists to the handcuffs and a second pair was 


84 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


produced, to fit the Count. At this indignity he 
drew himself up proudly. 

“ Have I resisted the authority, or attempted to run 
away ? ” he inquired with flashing eyes. 

The policeman had nothing to say to this very just 
question. 

“ Then I advise you to consider what you are doing, 
in spite of my appearance, which, I admit, is at present 
somewhat disorderly, I am a Russian nobleman, as you 
will discover so soon as I am submitted to a properly 
conducted examination in the presence of your officers. 
I have not the least intention of running away, and if 
this doll was stolen, I was not connected in any way 
with the theft. Since I respect the authorities, I 
insist upon being respected by them, and if I am 
treated in a degrading manner in spite of my j)rotests, 
there are those in Munich who will bring the case to 
proper notice in my own country. I am ready to 
accompany you quietly wherever you choose to show 
me the way.” 

Something in his manner impressed the officials with 
the possible truth of his words. They looked at each 
other and nodded. 

“ Very well,” said the one who was conducting the 
arrest. 

“ Moreover,” said the Count, “ I crave permission to 
carry myself the object of contention, until the other 
claimant has established his right of possession.” 

So saying the Count took the broken Gigerl from 
the table where it lay, and carrying it upon his hands 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 85 

before him, like a baby, he solemnly walked in the 
direction of the door, thus heading the procession, 
which was accompanied into the street by the idlers 
who had collected inside. 

“ God be thanked,” said the old woman in the cor- 
ner, devoutly, “ I have yet my beer ! ” 

“ And to think that only one of them has paid for 
his supper,” moaned the pale-faced innkeeper, sitting 
down upon a chair and contemplating the wreck of his 
belongings with a haggard eye. The “ Gigerl- night ” 
was remembered for many a long year in the “ Green 
Wreath Inn.” 

At the police station the arresting party told their 
own story in their own way, very much to the disad- 
vantage of the Russians and very much in favour of 
the porters and the officials themselves. The latter, 
indeed, enlarged so much upon the atrocities perpe- 
trated by Dumnoff as to weary the superior officer. 
The Cossack having escaped, the policemen did not 
mention him. The officer glanced at Dumnoff. 

“Your name?” he inquired. 

“Victor Ivanowitch Dumnoff.” 

“ Occupation ? ” 

“ Cigarette-maker in the manufactory of Christian 
Fischelowitz.” 

“ Lock him up,” said the officer. “ Resisting the 
police in the execution of an arrest,” he added, speak- 
ing to the scribe at his •elbow. 

“ Your name ! ” he continued, addressing the 
Count. 


86 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“Boris Michaelovitcli, Count Skariatine.” 

“Count?” repeated the officer. “We shall see. 
Occupation ? ” 

“ I have been occupied in the manufacture of ciga- 
rettes,” answered the Count. “ But as I was only 
engaged in this during a period of temporary embar- 
rassment from which I shall be relieved to-morrow, I 
may be described as having no particular occupation.” 

The officer stared incredulously for a moment and 
then nodded to the scribe in token that he was to 
write down what was said. 

“ Charged with having stolen a doll, is that it ? ” 
He turned to the policeman in charge. 

“Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann.” 

“ May it please you, Herr Hauptmann, I did not say 
that,” put in the porter, coming forward. 

“ Who are you ? ” 

“ The man from whom the doll was stolen. Jacob 
Goggelmann, Dienstmann number 87, formerly private 
in the Fourth Artillery, lately messenger in the 
Thiiringer Doll Manufactory.” 

“ When was the doll stolen ? ” 

“Last New Year’s eve,” answered the porter. 

“ And you have not seen it until to-day ? ” 

“ No, Herr Hauptmann.” 

“Then how do you know it is the same one? I 
suppose it is not the only doll of its kind in Munich.” : 

“ I am sure of it. I was ‘a messenger in the shop,' 
Herr Hauptmann, and I knew everything there, just 
as though I had been one of the young ladies who 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 87 

serve the customers. Besides, you will find my name 
written in pencil under the pedestal.” 

“ That is another matter,” said the officer, taking the 
Gigerl and holding it upside down to the gaslight. 
Ihe reversing of the thing’s natural position produced 
some mysterious effect upon the musical box, and the 
tune which had been so rudely interrupted by Akulina’s 
well-aimed blow, suddenly began again from the point 
at which it had stopped, continuing for a few bars and 
then coming to an end with a sharp twang and a little 
click. The policemen tittered audibly, and even the 
captain smiled faintly in his big yellow beard. Then 
he knit his brows as he deciphered something which 
was written on the pinewood under the base. 

“ You should have said so at once,” he observed. 
“ Your name is there as you assert.” 

“ It was written to show that I was to take it. I 
had it in a basket with other things. I put it down a 
moment in the yard of the Hofbrauhaus, and when I 
came back the basket was gone.” 

“ And what do you know about it ? ” The question 
was addressed to the Count. 

“ Seeing that the porter is evidently right,” said the 
Count, covering with his hat the point from which the 
button had been torn, and holding the other hand rather 
nervously to his throat, as though trying to keep him- 
self from falling to pieces, “ I have nothing more to 
say. I will not be accused of inculpating any one in 
this disastrous affair. I will only say that the doll 
has stood since early in the year in the show window 


88 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


of Christian Fischelowitz, the tobacconist, who certainly 
had no knowledge of the way in which it was obtained 
by the person who brought it to him.” 

“ He is an extremely respectable person,” observed 
the officer. “If you can prove what you say, I will 
not detain you further. Have you any witness 
here ? ” 

“ There is Herr Dumnoff,” said the Count. The 
officer smiled and perpetrated an official jest. 

“ Herr Dumnoff has given evidence of great strength, 
but owing to his peculiar situation at the present time, 
I cannot trust to the strength of his evidence.” 

The policemen laughed respectfully. 

“ Have you no one else ? ” asked the officer. 

“ Herr Fischelowitz will willingly vouch for what I 
say.” 

“ At this hour, Herr Fischelowitz is doubtless asleep, 
and would certainly be justified in refusing to come 
here out of mere complaisance. I am afraid. Count 
Skariatine, that I must have the honour of being your 
host until morning.” 

“ It is impossible to describe our relative positions 
with greater courtesy,” answered the Count, gravely, 
and not taking the least notice of the officer’s ironical 
tone. The latter looked at the speaker curiously and 
then suddenly changed his manner. He was convinced 
that he was speaking with a gentleman. 

“ I regret that I am obliged to put you to such incon- 
venience,” he said, politely. “Treat the gentleman 
with every consideration,” he added, addressing the 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


89 


policemen in a tone of authority, “ and let me have no 
complaints of unnecessary rudeness either.” 

“ I thank you, Herr Hauptmann,” said the Count, 
simply. 

Thus was the Count deprived of his liberty on the 
very eve of his return to all the brilliant advantages 
of wealth and social station. It was certainly a most 
unfortunate train of circumstances which had led him 
by such quick stages from his parting with Vjera to 
the wooden bench and the board pillow of the police- 
station. It looked as though the Gigerl were possessed 
of an evil spirit determined to work out the Count’s 
destruction, as though the wretched adventurer who 
had first stolen it and palmed it off upon Fischelowitz 
had laid a curse upon it, whereby it was destined to 
breed dissension and strife wherever it remained and to 
the direct injury of whomsoever chanced to possess it 
for the time being. It had been the cause of serious 
disaster to the porter in the first instance, it had next 
represented to Fischelowitz a dead loss in money of 
fifty marks, it had become a thorn in the side of Aku- 
lina, it had led to one of the most violent quarrels she 
had ever engaged in with her husband, its limp and 
broken form had cost much broken crockery and some 
broken furniture to the host of the “ Green Wreath Inn,” 
had been the cause of several ponderous blows dealt and 
received by Dumnoff, had produced the violent fall, 
upon a hard board floor, of a porter and two policemen, 
and had ultimately brought the Count to prison for the 
night. Its value had become very great, for it had been 


90 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


paid for twice over, once by the man from whom it had 
been stolen, by the forfeiture of his caution money, 
and once by Fischelowitz in the sum of fifty marks lent 
to an adventurer ; furthermore, the Count had solemnly 
pledged his word as a gentleman to pay for a third 
time on the morrow, he having in his worldly posses- 
sion the sum of one silver mark and two German 
pennies at the time of entering into the engagement. 
The actual sum of money paid and promised to be paid 
on the body of the now ruined Gigerl, now amounted, 
with interest, to more than four times its original value, 
thus constituting one of those interesting problems 
in real and comparative value so interesting to the 
ingenuous political economist, who believes that all 
value can be traced to supply and demand. Now, 
although the Gigerl was but a single doll, the supply 
of him, so to speak, had been surprisingly abundant, 
and the demand, if represented by the desire of any one 
person concerned to possess him, may be represented 
by the smallest of zeros. The consideration of so intri- 
cate a question belongs neither to the inventor of fic- 
tion nor to the historian of facts, and may therefore be 
abandoned to the political economist, who may, perhaps, 
be said to partake of the nature of both while possess- 
ing the virtues of neither. 

The Count was in prison, therefore, on the eve of his 
return to splendour, and his companion in captivity 
was Dumnoff the mujik. They found themselves in a 
well-ventilated room, having high grated windows, 
through which the stars were visible, and dimly 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


91 


lighted by a small gas flame which burned in a lantern 
of white ground glass. The place was abundantly, if 
not luxuriously, furnished with flat wooden pallets, 
each having at the head a slanting piece of board sup- 
posed to do duty for a pillow. Outside the open 
door a policeman paced the broad passage, a man taken 
from the mounted detachment, and whose scabbard and 
spurs clattered and jingled, hour after hour, as he 
walked. The sound produced something half rhyth- 
mical, like a broken tune in search of itself, and the 
change of sentinels made no perceptible difference in 
the regular nature of the unceasing noise. 

Dumnoff, relieved of his handcuffs, stretched himself 
upon the pallet assigned to him, clasped his hands 
under the back of his head, and stared at the ceiling. 
The Count sat upon the edge of his board, crossing one 
knee over the other and looking at his nails, or trying 
to look at them in the insufficient light. In some dis- 
tant part of the building a door was occasionally opened 
and shut, and the slight concussion sent long echoes 
down the stone passages. The Count sighed audibly. 

“It is not so bad, after all,” remarked Dumnoff. 
“ I did not expect to end the evening so comfortably.” 

“ It is bad enough,” said the Count. He produced a 
crumpled piece of newspaper which contained a little 
tobacco, and rolled a cigarette thoughtfully. “It is 
bad enough,” he repeated as he began to smoke. 

“ It would have been very easy to get away, if you 
had done like that brute of a Schmidt who ran away 
and left us.” 


92 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“I do not think Schmidt is a brute,” observed the 
other, blowing a huge ring of white smoke out into 
the dusk. 

“ I did not think so either. But I had arranged it 
all very well for you to get away — only you would not. 
You see, by an accident, the key was outside the door, 
so I kicked the people back and locked it. It would 
have taken a quarter of an hour for them to open it, 
and if you had only jumped ” 

He turned his head, and glanced at the Count’s spare, 
sinewy figure. 

“You are light, too,” he continued, “and you could 
not have hurt yourself. 1 cannot understand why you 
stayed.” 

“ Dumnoff, my friend,” said the Count, gravely, “we 
look at things in a different way. It is my duty to 
tell you that I think you behaved in the most honour- 
able manner, under the circumstances, and I am deeply 
indebted to you for the gallant way in which you came 
back to stand by me, when you were yourself free. In 
a nobler warfare, such an action would have been 
rewarded with a cross of honour, as it truly deserved. 
It is true, as well, that you were not so intimately con- 
nected with the main question at stake, as I was, since 
it was I who was suspected of being in possession of 
unlawfully gotten goods. You were consequently, I 
think, at liberty to take your freedom if you could get 
it, without consulting your conscience further. Now 
my position was, and is, very different. I do not 
speak of any personal prejudice against the mere act of 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


93 


running away, considered as an immediate means of 
escape from disagreeable circumstances, with the hope 
of ultimate immunity from all unpleasant consequences. 
That is a matter of early education.” 

“ I had very little early education,” observed Dum- 
noff. “ And none at all afterwards.” 

“ My friend, it is not for you and me to enter into 
the history of our misfortunes. We have met in the 
vat of poverty to be seethed alike in the brew of un- 
happiness. We have sat at the same daily labour, we 
have shared often the same fare, but there is that in 
each of us which we can keep sacred from the contami- 
nation of confidence, and which will withstand even 
the thrusts of poverty. I mean our individual selves, 
the better part of us, the nobler element which has suff- 
ered, as distinguished from the grosser, which may 
yet enjoy. But I am wandering a little. I am afraid 
I sometimes do. I return to the point. For me to 
take advantage of your generous attempt to free me 
would have been to act as though I had a moral cause 
for flight. In other words, it would have been to ac- 
knowledge that I had committed some dishonourable 
action.” 

“ It seems to me that to get away would have been 
the best way out of it. They would not have caught 
you if you had trusted to me, and if they did not catch 
you they could not prove anything against you.” 

“The suspicion would have remained, and the dis- 
grace in my own eyes,” answered the Count. “ The 
question of physical fear is very different. I have 


94 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


been told that it depends upon the nerves and the 
action of the heart, and that courage is greatly in- 
creased by the presence of nourishment in the stom- 
ach. The same cannot be said of moral bravery, 
which proceeds more from the fear of seeming con- 
temptible in our own eyes than from the wish to 
seem honourable in the estimation of others.” 

“ I daresay,” said Dumnoff, who was growing sleepy 
and who understood very little of his companion’s homily. 

“ Precisely,” replied the latter. “ And yet even the 
question of physical courage is very complicated in the 
present case. It cannot be said, for instance, that you 
ran away from physical fear, after giving proof of such 
astonishing physical superiority. Your deeds this even- 
ing make the labours of Hercules dwindle to the pro- 
portions of mere mountebank’s tricks.” 

“Was anybody badly injured?” asked Dumnoff, 
suddenly aroused by the pleasing recollections of the 
contest. 

“ I believe not seriously ; I think I saw everybody 
whom you upset get on his feet sooner or later.” 

“Well,” said Dumnoff, with a sigh, “it cannot be 
helped. I did my best.” 

“ I should think that you would be glad,” suggested 
the Count. “ You showed your prowess without any 
fatal result.” 

“ Anything for a change in this dull life,” grumbled 
the peasant, with an air of dissatisfaction. 

“ With such a prospect of immediate change before 
me, I suppose I ought not to blame your longing for 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


95 


excitement. Nevertheless I consider it fortunate that 
nothing worse happened.” 

“You might take me with you to Russia,” said 
Dumnoff, with a short laugh. “That would be an 
excitement, at least.” 

“ After the way in which you have stood by me this 
evening, I will not refuse you anything. If you wish 
it, I will take you with me. I take it for granted that 
you are not prevented by any especial reason from 
entering our country.” 

“Not that I am aware of,” laughed Dumnoff. “Do 
you know how I got to Germany ? A gentleman from 
our part of the country brought me with him as coach- 
man. One day the horses ran away in Baden-Baden, 
and he turned me out of the house.” 

“ That was very inconsiderate of him,” observed the 
Count. 

“ It is true that both the horses were killed,” said 
Dumnoff, thoughtfully. “And the prince broke his 
arm, and the carriage was in good condition for fire^ 
wood, and possibly I was a little gay — just a little 
— though I was so much upset by the accident that 
I could not remember exactly what happened before. 
Still ” 

“Your conduct on that particular day seems to 
have left much to be desired,” remarked the Count 
with some austerity. 

“It has been my bad luck to be in a great many acci- 
dents,” said the other. “ But that one was remarkable. 
As far as I can recollect, we drove into the Grand Duke’s 


96 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


four-in-hand on one side and drove out of it on the other. 
I never drove through a Grand Duke’s equipage on any 
other occasion. It was lucky that his Serenity did not 
happen to be in it just at the time. There you have 
my history in a nutshell. As you say you will take me 
with you, I thought you ought to know\” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” answered the Count, vaguely. 
“ I will take you with me — but not as coachman, I 
think, Dumnoff. We may find some more favourable 
sphere for your great physical strength.” 

“Anything you like. It is a good joke to dream 
of such a journey, is it not? Especially when one is 
locked up for the night in the. police-station.” 

“ It is certainly a relief to contemplate the pros- 
pect of such a change to-morrow,” said the Count, 
his expression brightening in the gloom. 

For a few moments there was silence between the 
two men. Dumnoff’s small eyes fixed themselves on 
the shadowy outlines of his companion’s face, as 
though trying to solve a problem far too compli- 
cated for his dull intellect. 

“I wonder whether you are really mad,” he said 
slowly, after a prolonged mental effort. 

The Count started slightly and stared at the ex- 
coachman with a frightened look. 

“ Mad ? ” he repeated, nervously. “ Who says I am 
mad ? Why do you ask the question ? ” 

“Most people say so,” replied the other, evidently 
without any intention of giving pain. “Everybody 
who works with us thinks so.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


97 


“ Everybody ? Everybody ? I think you are dream- 
ing, Dumnoff. What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that they think so because you have those 
queer fits of believing yourself a rich count every week, 
from Tuesday night till Thursday morning. Schmidt 
was saying only yesterday to poor Vjera ” 

“ Vjera ? Does she believe it too ? ” asked the Count 
in an unsteady voice, not heeding the rest of the speech. 

“ Of course,” said Dumnoff, carelessly. “ Schmidt 
was saying to me only yesterday that you were going 
to have a worse attack of it than usual because you 
were so silent.” 

“Vjera, too!” repeated the Count in a low voice. 
“ And no one ever told me — ” He passed his hand 
over his eyes. 

“Tell me” — Dumnoff began in the tone of jocular 
familiarity which he considered confidential — “ tell me 
— the whole thing is just a joke of yours to amuse us 
all, is it not? You do not really believe that you are 
a count, any more than I really believe that you are 
mad, you know. You do not act like a madman, except 
when you let the police catch you and lock you up for 
the night, instead of running away like a sensible man.” 

The Count’s face grew bright again *11 at once. In 
the present state of his hopes no form of doubt seemed 
able to take a permanent hold of him. 

“ No, I am not mad,” he said. “ But on the other 
hand, Dumnoff, it is my conviction that you are exceed- 
ingly drunk. No other hypothesis can account for 
your very singular remarks about me.” 


98 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ Oh, I am drunk, am I ? ” laughed the peasant. “ It 
is very likely, and in that case I had better go to sleep. 
Good-night, and do not forget that you are to take me 
with you to Russia.” 

“ I will not forget,” said the Count. 

Dumnoff stretched his heavy limbs on the wooden 
pallet, rolled his great head once or twice from side to 
side until his fur-like hair made something like a 
cushion, and then, in the course of three minutes, fell 
fast asleep. 

The Count sat upright in his place, drumming with 
his fingers upon one knee. 

“ It is a wonder that I am not mad,” he said to him- 
self. “ But Vjera never thought it of me — and that 
fellow is evidently the worse for liquor.” 


CHAPTER VI 


Johann Schmidt had not fled from the scene of 
action out of any consideration for his personal safety. 
He was, indeed, a braver man than Dumnoff, in pro- 
portion as he was more intelligent, and though of a 
very different temper, by no means averse to a fight if 
it came into his way. He had foreseen what was sure 
to happen, and had realised sooner than any one else 
that the only person who could set everything straight 
was Fischelowitz himself. So soon as he was clear of 
pursuit, therefore, he turned in the direction of the 
tobacconist’s dwelling, walking as quickly as he could 
where there were many people and running at the top 
of his speed through such empty by-streets as lay in 
the direct line of his course. He rushed up the three 
flights of steps and rang sharply at the door. 

Akulina’s unmistakable step was heard in the passage 
a moment later. Schmidt would have preferred that 
Fischelowitz should have come himself, though he man- 
aged to live on very good terms with Akulina. Though 
far from tactful he guessed that in a matter concerning 
the Count, the tobacconist would prove more obliging 
than his wife. 

“ What is the matter ? ” inquired the mistress of the 
house, opening the door wide after she had recognised 


100 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


the Cossack in the feeble light of the staircase, by look- 
ing through the little hole in the panel. 

“Good-evening, Frau Fischelowitz,” said Schmidt, 
trying to appear as calm and collected as possible. “ I 
would like to speak to your husband upon a little mat- 
ter of business.” 

“ He is not at home yet. I left him in the shop.” 

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, 
Schmidt had turned and was running down the stairs, 
two at a time. Akulina called him back. 

“Wait a minute ! ” she cried, advancing to the hand- 
rail on the landing. “ What in the world are you in 
such a hurry about ? ” 

“ Oh — nothing — nothing especial,” answered the 
man, suddenly stopping and looking up. 

Akulina set her fat hands on her hips and held her 
head a little on one side. She had plenty of curiosity 
in her composition. 

“Well, I must say,” she observed, “for a man who 
is not in a hurry about anything, you are uncommonly 
brisk with your feet. If it is only a matter of business, 
I daresay I will do as well as my husband.” 

“ Oh, I daresay,” admitted Schmidt, scratching his 
head. “ But this is rather a personal matter of busi- 
ness, you see.” 

“ And you mean that you want some money, I sup- 
pose,” suggested Akulina, at a venture. 

“No, no, not at all — no money at all. It is not a 
question of money.” He hoped to satisfy her by a state- 
ment which was never without charm in her ears. But 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


101 


Akulina was not satisfied ; on the contrary, she began 
to suspect that something serious might be the matter, 
for she could see Schmidt’s face better now, as he looked 
up to her, facing the gaslight that burned above her 
own head. Having been violently angry not more than 
an hour or two earlier, her nerves were not altogether 
calmed, and the memory of the scene in the shop was 
still vividly present. There was no knowing what the 
Count might not have done, in retaliation for the verbal 
injuries she had heaped upon him, and her quick instinct 
connected Schmidt’s unusually anxious appearance and 
evident haste to be off, with some new event in which 
the Count had played a part. 

“ Have you seen the Count ? ” she inquired, just as 
Schmidt was beginning to move again. 

“Yes,” answered the latter, trying to assume a doubt- 
ful tone of voice. “ I believe — in fact, I did see him 
— for a moment ” 

Akulina smiled to herself, proud of her own acuteness. 

“ I thought so,” she said. “ And he has made some 
trouble about that wretched doll ” 

“ How did you guess that ? ” asked Schmidt, turning 
and ascending a few steps. He was very much aston- 
ished. 

“ Oh, I know many things — many interesting things. 
And now you want to warn my husband of what the 
Count has done, do you not ? It must be something 
serious, since you are in such a hurry. Come in, Herr 
Schmidt, and have a glass of tea. Fischelowitz will be 
at home in a few minutes, and you see I have guessed 


102 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


half your story, so you may as well tell me the other 
half and be done with it. It is of no use for you to go 
to the shop after him. He has shut up by this time, 
and you cannot tell which way he will come home, can 
you ? Much better come in and have a glass of tea. 
The samovar is lighted and everything is ready, so that 
you need not stay long.” 

Schmidt lingered doubtfully a moment on the stairs. 
The closing hour was certainly past in early-closing 
Munich, and he might miss the tobacconist in the street. 
It seemed wiser to wait for him in his house, and so 
the Cossack reluctantly accepted the invitation, which, 
under ordinary circumstances, he would have regarded 
as a great honour. Akulina ushered him into the little 
sitting-room and prepared him a large glass of tea with 
a slice of lemon in it. She filled another for herself 
and sat down opposite to him at the table. 

“ The poor Count ! ” she exclaimed. “ He is sure to 
get himself into trouble some day. I suppose people 
cannot help behaving oddly when they are mad, poor 
things. And the Count is certainly mad, Herr Schmidt.” 

“ Quite mad, poor man. He has had one of his worst 
attacks to-day.” 

“ Yes,” assented the wily Akulina, “and if you could 
have seen him and heard him in the shop this evening 
” She held up her hands and shook her head. 

“ What did he do and say ? ” 

“ Oh, such things, such things ! Poor man, of course 
I am very sorry for him, and I am glad that my hus- 
band finds room to employ him, and keep him from 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


103 


starving. But really, this evening he quite made me 
lose my temper. I am afraid I was a little rough, con- 
sidering that he is sensitive. But to hear the man talk 
about his money, and his titles, and his dignities, when 
he is only just able to keep body and soul together ! It 
is enough to irritate the seven archangels, Herr Schmidt, 
indeed it is ! And then at the same time there was 
that dreadful Gigerl, and my head was splitting — I am 
sure there will be a thunder-storm to-night — altogether, 
I could not bear it any longer, and I actually upset the 
Gigerl out of anger, and it rolled to the floor and was 
broken. Of course it is very foolish to lose one’s tem- 
per in that way, but after all, I am onl}" a weak woman, 
and I confess it was a relief to me when I saw the poor 
Count take the thing away. I hope I did not really 
hurt his feelings, for he is an excellent workman, in 
spite of his madness. What did he say, Herr Schmidt ? 
I would so like to know how he took it. Of course he 
was very angry. Poor man, so mad, so completely mad 
on that one point ! ” 

“ To tell the truth,” said Schmidt, who had listened 
attentively, “he did not like what you said to him at 
all.” 

“ Well, really, was it my fault, Herr Schmidt ? I am 
only a woman, and I suppose I may be excused if I lose 
my temper once in a year or so. It is very wearing on 
the nerves. Every Tuesday evening begins the same 
old song about the fortune and letters, and the journey 
to Russia. One gets very tired of it in the long run. 
At first it used to amuse me.” 


104 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ Do you think that Herr Fischelowitz can have gone 
anywhere else instead of coming home ? ” asked the 
Cossack, finishing the glass of tea, which he had 
swallowed burning hot out of sheer anxiety to get away. 

“ Oh, no, indeed,” cried Akulina, in a tone of the most 
sincere conviction. “ He always tells me where he is 
going. You have no idea what a good husband he is, 
and what a good man — though I daresay you know 
that after being with us so many years. Now, I am 
sure that if he had the least idea that anything had hap- 
pened to the poor Count, he would run all the way home 
in order to hear it as soon as possible.” 

“No more tea, thank you, Frau Fischelowitz,” said 
Schmidt, but she took his glass with a quiet smile and 
shredded a fresh piece of lemon into it and filled it up 
again, quite heedless of his protest. Schmidt resigned 
himself, and thanked her civilly. 

“Of course,” she said, presently, as she busied her- 
self with the arrangements of the samovar, “ of course 
it is nothing so very serious, is it? I daresay the 
Count has told you that he would not work any more 
for us, and you are anxious to arrange the matter? 
In that case, you need have no fear. I am always 
ready to forgive and forget, as they say, though I 
am only a weak woman.” 

“ That is very kind of you,” observed Schmidt, with 
a glitter in his eyes which Akulina did not observe. 

“ I guessed the truth, did I not ? ” 

“Not exactly. The trouble is rather more serious 
than that. The fact is, as we were at supper, a man 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 105 

at another table saw the Gigerl in our hands and swore 
that it had been stolen from him some months ago.” 

“And what happened then?” asked Akulina with 
sudden interest. 

“ I suppose you may as well know,” said Schmidt, 
regretfully. “There was a row, and the man made 
a great deal of trouble and at last the police were 
called in, and I came to get Herr Fischelowitz himself 
to come and prove that the Gigerl was his. You see 
why I am in such a hurry.” 

“ Do you think they have arrested the Count ? ” 

“ I imagine that every one concerned would be taken 
to the police-station.” 

“ And then ? ” 

“ And then, unless the affair is cleared up, they will 
be kept there all night.” 

“ All night ! ” exclaimed Akulina, holding up her 
hands in real or affected horror. “ Poor Count ! He 
will be quite crazy now, I fear — especially as this 
is Tuesday evening.” 

“ But he must be got out at once ! ” cried Schmidt, 
in a tone of decision. “ Herr Fischelowitz will surely 
not allow ” 

“No indeed ! You have only to wait until he comes 
home, and then you can go together. Or better still, 
if he does not come back in a quarter of an hour, and 
if he has really shut up the shop as usual, you might 
look for him at the Cafe Luitpold, and if he is not 
there, it is just possible that he may have looked in 
at the Gartner Platz Theatre, for which he often has 


106 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


free tickets, and if the performance is over — I fancy 
it is, by this time — he may be in the Cafe Maximilian, 
or he may have gone to drink a glass of beer in the 
Platzl, for he often goes there, and — well, if you do 
not find him in any of those places ” 

“But, good Heavens, Frau Fischelowitz, you said 
you were quite sure he was coming home at once ! 
Now I have lost all this time ! ” 

Schmidt had risen quickly to his feet, in considerable 
anxiety and haste. Akulina smiled good-humouredly. 

“ You see,” she said, “it is just possible that to-night, 
as lie was a little annoyed with me for being sharp with 
the Count, he may have gone somewhere without tell- 
ing me. But I really could not foresee it, because he 
is such a very good ” 

“ I know,” interrupted the Cossack. “ If I miss him, 
you will tell him, will you not ? Thank you, and good- 
night, Frau Fischelowitz, I cannot afford to wait a 
moment longer.” 

So saying Johann Schmidt made for the door and 
got out of the house this time without any attempt on 
the part of his amiable hostess to detain him further. 
She had indeed omitted to tell him that her last 
speech was not merely founded on a supposition, since 
Fischelowitz had really been very much annoyed and 
had declared that he would not come home but would 
spend the evening with a friend of his who lived in 
the direction of Schwabing, one of the suburbs of 
Munich farthest removed from the places in which she 
advised Schmidt to make search. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


107 


The stout housewife disliked and even detested the 
Count for many reasons all good in her own eyes, 
among which the chief one was that she did dislike 
him. She felt for him one of those strong and 
invincible antipathies which trivial and cunning 
natures often feel for very honourable and simple 
ones. To the latter the Count belonged, and Akulina 
was a fine specimen of the former. If the Count had 
been literally starving and clothed in rags, he would 
have been incapable of a mean thought or of a dis- 
honest action. Whatever his origin had been, he had 
that, at least, of a nobility undeniable in itself. That 
his character was simple in reality, may as yet seem 
less evident. He was regarded as mad, as has been 
seen, but his madness was methodical and did not 
overstep certain very narrow bounds. Beyond those 
limits within which others, at least, did not consider 
him responsible, his chief idea seemed to be to gain 
his living quietly, owing no man anything, nor refus- 
ing anything to any man who asked it. This last 
characteristic, more than any other, seemed to prove 
the possibility of his having been brought up in wealth 
and with the free use of money, for his generosity was 
not that of the vulgar spendthrift who throws away his 
possessions upon himself quite as freely as upon his com- 
panions. He earned enough money at his work to live 
decently well, at least, and he spent but the smallest 
sum upon his own wants. Nevertheless he never had 
anything to spare for his own comfort, for he was as 
ready to give a beggar in the street the piece of 


108 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

silver which represented a good part of the value of 
his day’s work as most rich people are to part with a 
penny. He never inquired the reason for the request 
of help, but to all who asked of him he gave what he 
had, gravely, without question, as a matter of course. 
If Dumnoff’s pockets were empty and his throat dry, 
he went to the Count and got what he wanted. 
Dumnoff might be brutal, rude, coarse ; it made no 
difference. The Count did not care to know where 
the money went nor when it would be returned, if 
ever. If Schmidt’s wife — for he had a wife — was 
ill, the Count lent all he had, if the children’s shoes 
were worn out, he lent again, and when Schmidt, who 
was himself extremely conscientious in his odd way, 
brought the money back, the Count generally gave 
it to the first poor person whom he met. Akulina 
supposed that this habit belonged to his madness. 
Others, who understood him better, counted it to him 
for righteousness, and even Dumnoff, the rough peas- 
ant, showed at times a friendly interest in him, which 
is not usually felt by the unpunctual borrower towards 
the uncomplaining lender. 

But Akulina could understand none of these things. 
She belongs by nature to the class of people whose 
first impulse on all occasions is to say : “ Money is 
money.” There can be no mutual attraction of intel- 
lectual sympathy between these, and those other 
persons who despise money in their hearts, and would 
rather not touch it with their hands. It has been 
seen also that the events connected with the Gigerl’s 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 109 

first appearance in the shop had been of a nature to 
irritate Akulina still more. The dislike nourished in 
her stout bosom through long months and years now 
approached the completion of its development, and 
manifested itself as a form of active hatred. Akulina 
was delighted to learn that there was a prospect of the 
Count’s spending the night in the police-station, and 
she determined that Johann Schmidt should not find 
her husband before the next day, and that when the 
partner of her bliss returned — presumably pacified by 
the soothing converse of his friend — she would not 
disturb his peace of mind by any reference to the 
Count’s adventures. It was therefore with small pros- 
pect of success that the Cossack began his search for 
Fischelowitz. 

Only a man who has sought anxiously for another, 
all through the late evening, in a great city, knows 
how hopeless the attempt seems after the first hour. 
The rapid motion through many dusky streets, the 
looking in, from time to time, upon some merry com- 
pany assembled in a warm room under a brilliant 
light, the anxious search among the guests for the 
familiar figure, the disappointment, as each fancied 
resemblance shows, on near approach, a face unknown 
to the searcher, the hurried exit and the quick passage 
through the dark night air to the next halting-place — 
all these impressions, following hurriedly upon each 
other, confuse the mind and at last discourage hope. 

Schmidt did not realise how late it was, when, 
abandoning his search for his employer, he turned 


110 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


towards the police-station in the hope of still rendering 
some assistance to his friend. He could not gain 
admittance to the presence of the officer in charge, 
however, and was obliged to content himself with the 
assurance that the Count had been treated “ with con- 
sideration,” as the phrase was, and that there would be 
plenty of time for talking in the morning. The police- 
men in the guard-room were sleepy and not disposed to 
enter into conversation. Schmidt turned his steps in 
the direction of the tobacconist’s house for the second 
time, in sheer despair. But he found the street door 
shut and the whole house was dark. Nevertheless, he 
pulled the little handle upon which, by the aid of a 
flickering match, he discovered a figure of three, corre- 
sponding to the floor occupied by Fischelowitz. Again 
and again he tugged vigorously at the brass knob until 
he could hear the bell tinkling far above. No other 
sound followed, however, in the silence of the night, 
though he strained his ears for the faintest echo of a 
distant footfall and the slightest noise indicating that 
a window or a door was about to be opened. He 
wondered whether Fischelowitz had come home. If 
he had, Akulina had surely told him the story of the 
evening, and he would have been heard of at the police- 
station, for it was incredible that he should let the 
night pass without making an effort to liberate the 
Count. Therefore the tobacconist had in all probability 
not yet returned. The night was fairly warm, and the 
Cossack sat down upon a door-step, lighted a cigarette 
and waited. In spite of long years spent in the 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 111 

midst of German civilisation, it was still as natural to 
him to sit down in the open air at night and to watch 
the stars, as though he had never changed his own 
name for the plain German appellation of Johann 
Schmidt, nor laid aside the fur cap and the sheepskin 
coat of his tribe for the shabby jacket and the rusty 
black hat of higher social development. 

There was no truth in Akulina’s statement that a 
thunder-storm was approaching. The stars shone clear 
and bright, high above the narrow street, and the 
solitary man looked up at them, and remembered other 
days and a freer life and a broader horizon ; days when 
he had been younger than he was- now, a life full of 
a healthier labour, a horizon boundless as that of the 
little street was limited. He thought, as he often 
thought when alone in the night, of his long journeys 
on horseback, driving great flocks of bleating sheep 
over endless steppes and wolds and expanses of pasture 
and meadow ; he remembered the reddening of the 
sheep’s woolly coats in the evening sun, the quick 
change from gold to grey as the sun went down, the 
slow transition from twilight to night, the uncertain 
gait of his weary beast as the darkness closed in, the 
soft sound of the sheep huddling together, the bark of 
his dog, the sudden, leaping light of the camp-fire on 
the distant rising ground, the voices of greeting, the 
bubbling of the soup kettle, the grateful rest, the song 
oi the wandering Tchumak — the pedlar and roving 
newsman of the Don. He remembered on holidays 
the wild racing and chasing and the sports in the 


112 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


saddle, the picking up of the tiny ten-kopek bit from 
the earth at a full gallop, the startling game in which 
a row of fearless Cossack girls join hands together, 
daring the best rider to break their rank with his 
plunging horse if he can, the mad laughter of the 
maidens, the snorting and rearing of the animal as he 
checks himself before the human wall that will not 
part to make way for him. All these things he re- 
called, the change of the seasons, the iron winter, the 
scorching summer, the glory of autumn and the fresh- 
ness of spring. Born to such a liberty, he had fallen 
into the captivity of a common life ; bred in the des- 
ert, he knew that Jiis declining years would be spent 
in the eternal cutting of tobacco in the close air of a 
back shop ; trained to the saddle, he spent his days 
seated motionless upon a wooden chair. The contrast 
was bitter enough, between the life he was meant to 
lead by nature, and the life he was made to lead by 
circumstances. And all this was the result in the 
first instant of a girl’s caprice, of her fancy for another 
man, so little different from himself that a western 
woman could hardly have told the two apart. For 
this, he had left the steppe, had wandered westward to 
the Dnieper and southward to Odessa, northward again 
to Kiew, to Moscow, to Nizni-Novgorod, back again 
to Poland, to Krakau, to Prague, to Munich at last. 
Who could remember his wanderings, or trace the 
route of his endless journeyings ? Not he himself, 
surely, any more than he could explain the gradual 
steps by which he had been transformed from a Don 


A cigarette-maker’s romance^ 113 

Cossack to a German tobacco-cutter in a cigarette 
manufactory. 

But his past life at least furnished him with memo- 
ries, varied, changing, full of light and life and colour, 
wherewith to while away an hour’s watching in the 
night. Still he sat upon his door-step, watching star 
after star as it slowly culminated over the narrow street 
and set, for him, behind the nearest house-top. He 
might have sat there till morning had he not been at 
last aware that some one was walking upon the oppo- 
site pavement. 

His quick ear caught the soft fall of an almost noise- 
less footstep and he could distinguish a shadow a little 
darker than the surrounding shade, moving quickly 
along the wall. He rose to his feet and crossed the 
street, not believing, indeed, that the newcomer could 
be the man he wanted, but anxious to be fully satisfied 
that he was not mistaken. He found himself face 
to face with a young girl, who stopped at the street 
door of the tobacconist’s house, just as he reached 
it. Her head was muffled in something dark and 
he could not distinguish her features. She started 
on seeing him, hesitated, and then laid her hand upon 
the same knob which Schmidt had pulled so often in 
vain. 

“ It is of no use to ring,” he said, quietly. “ I have 
given it up.” 

“ Herr Schmidt ! ” exclaimed the girl in evident 
delight. It was Vjera. 

“Yes — but, in Heaven’s name, Vjera, what are you 

I 


114 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


doing here at this hour of the night? You ought to 
be at home and asleep.” 

“ Oh, you have not heard the dreadful news,” cried 
poor Vjera in accents of distress. “ Oh, if we cannot 
get in here, come with me, for the love of Heaven, and 
help me to get him out of that horrible place — oh, if 
you only knew what has happened ! ” 

“I know all about it, Vjera,” answered the Cossack. 
“ That is the reason why I am here. I was with them 
when it happened and I ran off to get Fischelowitz. 
As ill luck would have it, he was out.” 

In a few words Schmidt explained the whole affair 
and told of his own efforts. Vjera was breathless with 
excitement and anxiety. 

“What is to be done? Dear Herr Schmidt ! What 
is to be done ? ” She wrung her hands together and 
fixed her tearful eyes on his. 

“ I am afraid that there is nothing to be done until 
morning ” 

“ But there must be something, there shall be some- 
thing done ! They will drive him mad in that dread- 
ful place — ^he is so proud and so sensitive — you do 
not know — the mere idea of being in prison ” 

“ It is not so bad as that,” answered Schmidt, trying 
to reassure her. “ They assured me that he was treated 
with every consideration, you know. Of course that 
means that he was not locked up like a common 
prisoner.” 

“ Do you think so ? ” Vjera’s tone expressed no con- 
viction in the matter. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


115 


“ Certainly. And it shows that he is not really sus- 
pected of anything serious — only, because Fischelowitz 
could not be found ” 

“ But he is there — there in his house, asleep ! ” cried 
Vjera. “And we can wake him up — of course we 
can. He cannot be sleeping so soundly as not to hear 
if we ring hard. At least his wife will hear and look 
out of the window.” * 

“I am afraid not. I have tried it.” 

But Vjera would not be discouraged and laid hold of 
the bell-handle again, pulling it out as far as it would 
come and letting it fly back again with a snap. The 
same results followed as when Schmidt had made the 
same attempt. There was a distant tinkling followed 
by total silence. Vjera repeated the operation. 

“You cannot do more than I have done,” said her 
companion, leaning his back against the door and 
watching -her movements 

“I ought to do more.” 

“Why, Vjera?” 

“ Because he is more to me than to you or to any of 
the rest,” she answered in a low voice. 

“Do you mean to say that you love the Count?” 
inquired Schmidt, surprised beyond measure by the 
girl’s words and rendered thereby even more tactless 
than usual. 

But Vjera said nothing, having been already led into 
saying more than she had wished to say. She pulled 
the bell again. 

“ I had never thought of that,” remarked the Cossack 


116 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


in a musing tone. “ But he is mad, Vjera, the poor 
Count is mad. It is a pity that you should love a 
madman ” 

“ Oh, don’t, Herr Schmidt — please don’t ! ” cried 
Vjera, imploring him to be silent as much with her eyes 
as with her voice. 

“No, but really,” continued the other, as though 
talking to himself, “there are things that go beyond 
all imagination in this world. Now, who would ever 
have thought of such a thing ? ” 

This time Vjera did not make any answer, nor 
repeat her request. But as she tugged with all her 
might at the brass handle, the Cossack heard a quick 
sob, and then another. 

“Poor Vjera ! ” he exclaimed, kindly, and laying his 
hand on her shoulder. “ Poor child ! I am very sorry 
for you, poor Vjera — I would do anything to help you, 
indeed I would — if I only knew what it should be.” 

“ Then help me to wake up Fischelowitz,” answered 
the girl in a shaken voice. “ I am sure he is at home 
at this time ” 

“ I have done all I can. If he will not wake, he will 
not. Or if he is awake he will not put his head out 
of the window, which is much the same thing so far as 
we are concerned. By the bye, Vjera, you have not 
told me how you came to hear of the row. It is queer 
that you should have heard of it ” 

“Herr Homolka — you know, my landlord — had seen 
the Count go by with the Gigerl and the policemen. 
He asked some one in the crowd and learned the story. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 117 

But it was late when he came home, and he told us — 
I was sitting up sewing with his wife — and then I ran 
here. But do please help me — we can do something, 
1 am sure.” 

“ I do not see what, short of climbing up the flat 
walls of the house. But I am not a lizard, you know.” 

“We might call. Perhaps they would hear our 
voices if we called together,” suggested Vjera, drawing 
back into the middle of the street and looking up at 
the closed windows of the third story. 

“ Herr Fischelowitz ! ” she cried, in a shrill, weak 
tone that seemed to find no echo in the still air. 

“ Herr Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz, Fischelowitz ! ” 
bawled the Cossack, taking up the idea and putting 
it into very effective execution. His brazen voice, 
harsh and high, almost made the windows rattle. 

“ Somebody will hear that,” he observed, and cleared 
his throat for another effort. 

A number of persons heard it, and at the first repe- 
tition of the yell, two or three windows were angrily 
opened. A head in a white nightcap looked out from 
the first story. 

“ What do you want at this hour of the night ? ” 
asked the owner of the nightcap, already in a rage. 

“ I want Herr Fischelowitz, who lives in this house,” 
answered the Cossack, firmly. 

“ Do you live here ? Are you shut out ? ” 

“No — we only want ” 

“ Then go to the devil ! ” roared the infuriated Ger- 
man, shutting his window again with a vicious slam. 


118 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


A grunt of satisfaction from other directions was fol- 
lowed by the shutting of other windows, and presently 
all was silent again. 

“ I am afraid they sleep at the back of the house,” 
said Vjera, growing despondent at last. 

“I am afraid so too,” answered Johann Schmidt, 
proudly conscious that the noise he had made would 
have disturbed the slumbers of the Seven Sleepers of 
Ephesus. 


CHAPTER VII 


“You had better let me take you home,” said 
Schmidt, kindly, after the total failure of the last 
effort. 

Vjera seemed to be stupefied by the sense of dis- 
appointment. She went back to the door of the 
tobacconist’s house and put out her hand as though 
to ring the bell again; then, realising how useless the 
attempt would be, she let her arms fall by her sides 
and leaned against the door-post, her muffled head 
bent forward and her whole attitude expressing her 
despair. 

“Come, come, Vjera,” said the Cossack in an en- 
couraging tone, “it is not so bad after all. By this 
time the Count is fast asleep and is dreaming of his 
fortune, you know, so that it would be a cruelty to 
wake him up. In the morning we will all go with 
Fischelowitz and have him let out, and he will be none 
the worse.” 

“ I am afraid he will be — very much the worse,” 
said Vjera. “It is Wednesday to-morrow, and if he 
wakes up there — oh, I do not dare think of it. It 
will make him quite, quite mad. Can we do nothing 
more ? Nothing? ” 

“I think we have done our best to wake up this 
quarter of the town, and yet Fischelowitz is still 
119 


120 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

asleep. No one else can be of any use to us — there- 
fore ” he stopped, for his conclusion seemed self- 

evident. 

“I suppose so,” said Vjera, regretfully. “Let us 
go, then.” 

She turned, and with her noiseless step began to walk 
slowly away, Schmidt keeping close by her side. For 
some minutes neither spoke. The streets were de- 
serted, dry and still. 

“ Do you think there is any truth at the bottom of 
the Count’s story ? ” asked the Cossack at last. 

“ I do not know,” Vjera answered, shaking her head. 
“ I do no not know what to think,” she continued after 
a little pause. “ He tells us all the same thing, he 
speaks of his letters, but he never shows them to any 
one. I am afraid ” she sighed and stopped speak- 

ing. 

“ I will tell you this much,” said her companion. 
“That man is honest to the backbone, honest as the 
good daylight on the hills, where there are no houses 
to darken it and make shadows.” 

“He is an angel of goodness and kindness,” said 
Vjera, softly. 

“ I know he is. Is he not always helping others 
when he is starving himself ? Now what I say is this. 
No man who is as good and as honest as he is, can have 
become so mad about a mere piece of fancy — about an 
invented lie, to be plain. What there is in his story 
I do not know, but I am sure that there was truth in 
it once. It may have been a long time ago, but there 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


121 


was a time once, when he had some reason to expect 
the money and the titles he talks of every Tuesday 
evening.” 

“Do you really think that?” asked Vjera, eagerly. 
Her own understanding had never gone so far in its 
deduction. 

“ I am sure of it. I know nothing about mad people, 
but I am sure that no honest man ever invented a story 
out of nothing and then became crazy because it did 
not turn out true.” 

“ But you, who have travelled so much, Herr Schmidt, 
have you ever heard the name before — have you ever 
heard of such a family ? ” 

“I have a bad memory for names, but I believe I 
have. I cannot be sure. It makes no difference. It 
is a good Russian name, in any case, and a gentleman’s 
name, I should think. Of course I only mean that I 
— that you should not think that because I — in fact,” 
blundered out the good man, “you must not suppose 
that you will be a real countess, you know.” 

“I?” exclaimed Vjera, with a nervous, hysterical 
laugh, which the Cossack supposed to be genuine. 

“ That is all I wanted to say,” he continued in a tone 
of relief, as though he felt that he had done his duty 
in warning the poor girl of a possible disappointment. 
“ It may be true — of course, and I am sure that it once 
was, or something like it, but I do not believe he has 
any chance of getting his own after so long.” 

“I cannot think of it — in either way. If it is all 
an old forgotten tale which he believes in still — why 


122 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

then, he is mad. Is it not dreadful to see ? So quiet 
and sensible all the week, and then, on Tuesday night, 
his farewell speech to us all — every Tuesday — and his 
disappointment the next day, and then a new week 
begun without any recollection of it all ! It is breaking 
my heart, Herr Schmidt ! ” 

“Indeed, poor Vjera, you look as though it were.” 

“And yet, and yet — I do not know. I think that 
if it were one day to turn out true — then my heart 
would be quite broken, for he would go away, and I 
should never see him again.” 

Accustomed as she was to daily association with the 
man who was walking by her side, knowing his good 
heart and feeling his sympathy, it is small wonder that 
the lonely girl should have felt impelled to unburden 
her soul of some of its bitterness. If her life had gone 
on as usual, undisturbed by anything from without, the 
confessions which now fell from her lips so easily would 
never have found words. But she had been unsettled 
by what had happened in the early evening, and unstrung 
by her great anxiety for the Count’s safety. Her own 
words sounded in her ear before she knew that she was 
going to speak them. 

“ I am sure that something dreadful is going to hap- 
pen,” she continued after a moment’s pause. “ He will 
go mad in that horrible prison, raving mad, so that they 

will have to — to hold him ” she sobbed and then 

recovered herself by an effort. “ Or else — he will fall 
ill and die, after it ” Here she broke down com- 

pletely and stopping in the middle of the street began 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 123 

crying bitterly, clutching at Schmidt’s arm as though 
to keep from falling. 

“ I should not wonder,” he said, but she fortunately 
did not catch the words. 

He was very sorry for the poor girl, and felt inclined 
to take her in his arms and carry her to her home, for 
he saw that she was weak and exhausted as well as 
overcome by her anxiety. Before resorting to such a 
measure, however, he thought it best to try to encourage 
her to walk on. 

“Nothing that one expects ever happens,” he said 
confidently, and passing his arm through hers, as though 
to lead her away. “ Come, you will be at home pres- 
ently and then you will go to bed, and in the morning, 
before you are at the shop, everything will have been 
set right, and I daresay the Count will be there before 
you, and looking as well as ever.” 

“How can you say that, when you know that he 
never comes on Wednesdays ! ” exclaimed Vjera through 
her tears. “ I am sure something dreadful will happen 
to him. No, not that way — not that way ! ” 

Schmidt was trying to guide her round a sharp 
corner, but she resisted him. 

“ But that is the way home,” protested the Cossack. 

“ I know, but I cannot go home, until I have seen 
where he is. I must go — you must not prevent me ! ” 

“ To the police-station ? ” inquired Schmidt in con- 
siderable astonishment. “ They will not let us go in, 
you know. You cannot possibly see him. What good 
can it do you to go and look at the place? ” 


124 


A CIGARETTE-MAKER’S ROMANCE 


“You do not understand, Herr Schmidt! You are 
good and kind, but you do not understand me. Pray, 
pray come with me, or let me go alone. I wdll go alone, 
if you do not want to come. I am not at all afraid — 
but I must go.” 

“Well, child,” answered Schmidt, good-humouredly. 
“ I will go with you, since you are so determined.” 

“Is this the way ? Are you not misleading me ? 
Oh, I am sure I shall never see him again — quick, let 
us walk quickly, Herr Schmidt ! Only think what he 
may be suffering at this very moment I ” 

“ I am sure he is asleep, my dear child. And when 
we are outside of the police-station we cannot know 
what is going on inside, whether our friend is asleep 
or awake, and it can do no good whatever to go. But 
since you really wish it so much, we are going there 
as fast as we can, and I promise to take you by the 
shortest way.” 

Her step grew more firm as they went on and he 
felt that there was more life in the hand that rested 
on his arm. The prospect of seeing the walls of the 
place in which the Count was unwillingly spending 
the night gave Vjera fresh strength and courage. 
The way was long, as distances are reckoned in Mu- 
nich, and more than ten minutes elapsed before they 
reached the building. A sentry was pacing the pave- 
ment under the glare of the gaslight, his shadow 
lengthening, shortening, disappearing and lengthen- 
ing again on the stone-way as he walked slowly up 
and down. Vjera and her companion stopped on the 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


125 


other side of the street. The sentinel paid no atten- 
tion to them. 

“You are quite sure it is there?” asked the girl, 
under her breath. Schmidt nodded instead of an- 
swering. 

“ Then I will pray that all may be well this night,” 
she said. 

She dropped the Cossack’s arm and slipped away 
from him ; then pausing at a little distance, in the 
deep shadow of an archway opposite the station, she 
knelt down upon the pavement, and taking some small 
object, which was indistinguishable in the darkness, 
from the bosom of her frock she clasped her hands 
together and looked upwards through the gloom at 
the black walls of the great building. The Cossack 
looked at her in a sort of half-stupid, half-awed sur- 
prise, scarcely understanding what she was doing at 
first, and feeling his heart singularly touched when 
he realised that she was praying out here in the street, 
kneeling on the common pavement of the city, as 
though upon the marble floor of a church, and actu- 
ally saying prayers — he could hear low sounds of 
earnest tone escaping from her lips — prayers for the 
man she loved, because he was shut up for the night 
in the police-station like an ordinary disturber of the 
peace. He was touched, for the action, in its simplic- 
ity of faith, set in vibration the chords of a nature 
accustomed originally to simple things, simple hopes, 
simple beliefs. Instinctively, as he watched her, 
Johann Schmidt raised his hat from his round head 


126 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


for a moment, and if he had possessed any nearer 
acquaintance with praying in general or with any 
prayer in particular it is almost certain that his lips 
would have moved. As it was, he felt sorry for 
Vjera, he hoped that the Count would be none the 
worse for his adventure, and he took off his hat. Let 
it be counted to him for righteousness. 

As for poor Vjera herself, she was so much in ear- 
nest that she altogether forgot where she was. For 
love, it has been found, is a great suggester of prayer, 
if not of meditation, and when the beloved one is in 
danger a little faith seems magnified to such dimen- 
sions as would certainly accept unhesitatingly a whole 
mountain of dogmas. Vj era’s ideas were indeed con- 
fused, and she would have found it hard to define the 
result which she so confidently expected. But if 
that result were to be in any proportion to her ear- 
nestness of purpose and sincerity of heart, it could 
not take a less imposing shape than a direct interven- 
tion of Providence, at the very least ; and as the poor 
Polish girl rose from her knees she would hardly 
have been surprised to see the green-coated sentinel 
thrust aside by legions of angelic beings, hastening 
to restore to her the only treasure her humble life 
knew of, or dreamed of, or cared for. 

But as the visions which her prayers had called 
before her faded away into the night, she saw again the 
dingy walls of the hated building, the gilt spike on 
the helmet of the policeman and the shining blade 
that caught the light as he moved on his beat. For 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


127 


one moment Vjera stood quite still. Then with a 
passionate gesture she stretched out both arms before 
her, as though to draw out to herself, by sheer 
strength of longing, the man whose life she felt to 
be her own — and at last, wearied and exhausted, but 
no longer despairing altogether, she covered her face 
with her hands and repeated again and again the two 
words which made up the burden of her supplication. 

“ Save him, save him, save him ! ” she whispered to 
herself. 

When she looked up, at last, Schmidt was by her 
side. There was something oddly respectful in his 
attitude and manner as he stood there awaiting her 
pleasure, ready to be guided by her whithersoever she 
pleased. It seemed to him that on this evening he 
had begun to see Vjera in a new light, and that she 
was by no means the poor, insignificant little shell- 
maker he had always supposed her to be. It seemed 
to him that she was transformed into a woman, and 
into a woman of strong affections and brave heart. 
And yet he knew every outline of her plain face, and 
had known every change of her expression for years, 
since she had first come to the shop, a mere girl not 
yet thirteen years of age. Nor had it been from lack 
of observation that he had misunderstood her, for, 
like most men born and bred in the wilderness, he 
watched faces and tried to read them. The change 
had taken place in Vjera herself, and it must be due, 
he thought, to her love for the poor madman. He 
smiled to himself in the dark, scarcely understanding 


128 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


why. It was strange to him perhaps that madness 
on the one side should bring into life such a world of 
love on the other. 

Vjera turned towards him and once more laid her 
hand upon his arm. 

“ Thank you,” she said. “ I could not have slept if 
I had not come here fir^t, and it was very good of you. 
I will go home, but do not come with me — you must 
be tired.” 

“ I am never tired,” he answered, and they began to 
walk away in the direction whence they had come. 

For a long time neither spoke. At last Schmidt 
broke the silence. 

“Vjera,” he said, “ I have been thinking about it all, 
and I do not understand it. What kind of love is it 
that makes you act as you do ? ” 

Vjera stood still, for they were close to her door, and 
there was a street lamp at hand so that she could see 
his face. She saw that he asked the question earnestly. 

“ It is something that I cannot explain — it is some- 
thing holy,” she answered. 

Perhaps the forlorn little shell-maker had found the 
definition of true love. 

She let herself in with her key and Schmidt once 
more found himself alone in the street. If he had 
followed his natural instinct he would have loitered 
about in one of the public squares until morning, mak- 
ing up for the loss of his night’s rest by sleeping in the 
daytime. But he had taken upon himself the respon- 
sibilities of marriage as they are regarded west of the 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


129 


Dnieper, and his union had been blessed by the subse- 
quent appearance of a number of olive-branches. It 
was therefore necessary that be should sleep at night in 
order to work by day, and he reluctantly turned his 
footsteps towards home. As he walked, he thought of 
all that had happened since five o’clock in the after- 
noon, and of all that he had learned in the course of 
the night. Vjera’s story interested him and touched 
him, and her acts seemed to remind him of something 
which he nevertheless could not quite remember. Far 
down in his toughened nature the strings of a forgotten 
poetry vibrated softly as though they would make 
music if they dared. Far back in the chain of 
memories, the memory once best loved was almost 
awake once more, the link of once clasped hands was 
almost alive again, the tender pressure of fingers now 
perhaps long dead was again almost a reality able to 
thrill body and soul. And with all that, and with the 
certainty that those things were gone for ever, arose 
the great longing for one more breath of liberty, for 
one more ride over the boundless steppe, for one more 
draught of the sour kvass, of the camp brew of rye and 
malt. 

The longing for such things, for one thing almost 
unattainable, is in man and beast at certain times. In 
the distant northern plains, a hundred miles from the 
sea, in the midst of the Laplander’s village, a young 
reindeer raises his broad muzzle to the north wind, and 
stares at the limitless distance while a man may count 
a hundred. He grows restless from that moment, but 


130 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


he is yet alone. The next day, a dozen of the herd 
look up, from the cropping of the moss, snuffing the 
breeze. Then the Laps nod to one another, and the 
camp grows daily more unquiet. At times, the whole 
herd of young deer stand at gaze, as it were, breathing 
hard through wide nostrils, then jostling each other 
and stamping the soft ground. They grow unruly and 
it is hard to harness them in the light sledge. As the 
days pass, the Laps watch them more and more closely, 
well knowing what will happen sooner or later. And 
then at last, in the northern twilight, the great herd 
begins to move. The impulse is simultaneous, irre- 
sistible, their heads are all turned in one direction. 
They move slowly at first, biting still, here and there, 
at the bunches of rich moss. Presentl}^ the slow step 
becomes a trot, they crowd closely together, while the 
Laps hasten to gather up their last unpacked posses- 
sions, their cooking utensils and their wooden gods. 
The great herd break together from a trot to a gallop, 
from a gallop to a breakneck race, the distant thunder 
of their united tread reaches the camp during a few 
minutes, and they are gone to drink of the polar sea. 
The Laps follow after them, dragging painfully their 
laden sledges in the broad track left by the thousands 
of galloping beasts — a day’s journey, and they are yet 
far from the sea, and the trail is yet broad. On the 
second day it grows narrower, and there are stains of 
blood to be seen ; far on the distant plain before them 
their sharp eyes distinguish in the direct line a dark, 
motionless object, another and then another. The race 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


131 


has grown more desperate and more wild as the 
stampede neared the sea. The weaker reindeer have 
been thrown down, and trampled to death by their 
stronger fellows. A thousand sharp hoofs have crushed 
and cut through hide and flesh and bone. Ever swifter 
and more terrible in their motion, the ruthless herd 
has raced onward, careless of the slain, careless of food, 
careless of any drink but the sharp salt water ahead 
of them. And when at last the Laplanders reach the 
shore their deer are once more quietly grazing, once 
more tame and docile, once more ready to drag the 
sledge whithersoever they are guided. Once in his life 
the reindeer must taste of the sea in one long, satisfy- 
ing draught, and if he is hindered he perishes. Neither 
man nor beast dare stand between him and the ocean 
in the hundred miles of his arrow-like path. 

Something of this longing came upon the Cossack, as 
he suddenly remembered the sour taste of the kvass, to 
the recollection of which he had been somehow led by a 
train of thought which had begun with Vjera’s love for 
the Count, to end abruptly in a camp kettle. For the 
heart of man is much the same everywhere, and there 
is nothing to show that the step from the sublime to 
the ridiculous is any longer in the Don country than in 
any other part of the world. But between poor Johann 
Schmidt and his draught of kvass there lay obstacles 
not encountered by the reindeer in his race for the 
Arctic Ocean. There was the wife, and there were the 
children, and there was the vast distance, so vast that 
it might have discouraged even the fleet-footed scourer 


132 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

of the northern snows. Johann Schmidt might long 
for his kvass, and draw in his thin, wan lips at the 
thought of the taste of it, and bend his black brows 
and close his sharp eyes as in a dream — it was all of 
no use, there was no change in store for him. He 
had cast his lot in the land of beer and sausages, and 
he must work out his salvation and the support of his 
family without a ladleful of the old familiar brew to 
satisfy his unreasonable caprices. 

So, last of all those concerned in the events of the 
evening, Johann Schmidt went home to bed and to rest. 
That power, at least, had remained with him. When- 
ever he lay down he could close his eyes and be asleep, 
and forget the troubles and the mean trifles of his 
thorny existence. In this respect he had the advantage 
of the others. 

Vjera lay down, indeed, but the attempt to sleep 
seemed more painful than the accepted reality of 
waking. The night was the most terrible in her 
remembrance, filled as it was with anxiety for the 
fate of the man she so dearly loved. To her still 
childlike inexperience of the world, the circumstances 
seemed as full of fear and danger as though the poor 
Count had been put upon his trial for a murder or a 
robbery on an enormous scale, instead of being merely 
detained because he could not give a satisfactory account 
of a puppet which had been found in his possession. 
In the poor girl’s imagination arose visions of judges, 
awful personages in funereal robes and huge black caps, 
with cruel lips and hard, steely eyes, sitting in solemn 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


133 


state in a gloomy hall and dispensing death, disgrace, 
or long terms of prison, at the very least, to all comers. 
For her, the police-station was a dungeon, and she 
fancied the Count chained to a dank and slimy wall 
in a painful position, chilled to the marrow by the 
touch of the dripping stone, his teeth chattering, his 
face distorted with suffering. Of course he was in a 
solitary cell, behind a heavy door, braced with clamps 
and bolts and locks and studded with great dark iron 
nails. Without, the grim policemen were doubtless 
pacing up and down with drawn sw’ords, listening 
with a murderous delight to the groans of their victim 
as he writhed in his chains. In the eyes of the poor 
and the young, the law is a very terrible thing, taking 
no account of persons, and very little of the relative 
magnitude of men’s misdeeds. The province of justice, 
as Vjera conceived it, was to crush in its iron claws 
all who had the misfortune to come within its reach. 
Vjera had never heard of Judge Jeffreys nor of the 
Bloody Assizes, but the methods of procedure adopted 
by that eminent destroyer of his kind would have 
seemed mild and humane compared with what she 
supposed that all men, innocent or guilty, had to expect 
after they had once fallen into the hands of the police- 
man. She was not a German girl, taught in the com- 
mon school to understand something of the methods 
by which society governs itself. Her early childhood 
had been spent in a Polish village, far within the 
Russian frontier, and though the law in Russian 
Poland is not exactly the irresponsible and blood- 


134 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


thirsty monster depicted by young gentlemen and old 
maids who traverse the country in search of horrors, 
yet it must be admitted by the least prejudiced that 
it sometimes moves in a mysterious way, calculated to 
rouse some apprehension in the minds of those who 
are governed by it. And Vjera had brought with her 
her childish impressions, and applied them in the 
present case as descriptive of the Munich police- 
station. The whole subject was to her so full of 
horror that she had not dared to ask Schmidt for the 
detail's of the Count’s situation. To her, a revolution- 
ary caught in the act of undermining the Tsar’s bed- 
room, could not be in a worse case. She would not 
have believed Schmidt, had he told her that the Count 
was sitting in an attitude of calm thought upon the 
edge of a broad wooden bench, his hands quite free 
from chains and gyves, and occupied in rolling ciga- 
rettes at regular intervals of half an hour — and this, in 
a clean and well-ventilated room, lighted by a ground 
glass lantern. She would have supposed that Schmidt 
was inventing a description of such comfort and com- 
parative luxury in order to calm her fears, and she 
would have been ten times more afraid than before. 

It is small wonder that she could not sleep. The 
Count’s arrest alone would have sufficed to keep her 
in an agony of wakefulness, and there were other 
matters, besides that, which tormented the poor girl’s 
brain. She had been long accustomed to his singular 
madness and to hearing from him the assurance of his 
returning to wealth. At first, with perfect simplicity. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


135 


she had believed every word of the story he told with 
such evident certainty of its truth, and she had re- 
proached her older companions, as far as she dared, for 
their incredulity. But at last she had herself been 
convinced of his madness as through the weeks, and 
months, and years, the state of expectation returned 
on Tuesday evenings, to be followed by the disappoint- 
ments of Wednesday and by the oblivion which ensued 
on Thursday morning. Vjera, like the rest, had come 
to regard the regularly recurring delusion as being 
wholly groundless, and not to be taken into account, 
except inasmuch as it deprived them of the Count’s 
company on Wednesdays, for on that day he stayed at 
home, in his garret room, waiting for the high person- 
ages who were to restore to him his wealth. Some- 
times, indeed, when he chanced to be very sure that 
they would not come for him until evening, he would 
stroll through the town for an hour, looking into the 
shop windows and making up his mind what he should 
buy; and sometimes, on such occasions, he would visit 
the scene of his late labours, as he called the tobacco- 
nist’s shop on that day of the week, and would exchange 
a few friendly words with his former companions. On 
Thursday morning he invariably returned to his place 
without remark and resumed his work, not seeming to 
understand any observations made about his absence 
or strange conduct on the previous day. 

So far the story he had told Vjera had always been 
the same. Now, however, he had introduced a new 
incident in the tale, which filled poor Vjera with dis- 


136 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


may. He had never before spoken of his father and 
brother, except as the causes of his disasters, explaining 
that the powerful influence of his own friends, aided by 
the machinery of justice, had at last obliged them to 
concede him a proportional part of the fortune. Fische- 
lowitz was accustomed to laugh at his statement, say- 
ing that if the Count were only a younger son, the law 
would do nothing for him and that he must continue to 
earn his livelihood as he could. In the course of a 
long time Vjera had come to the conclusion, by com- 
paring this remark with the Count’s statement when in 
his abnormal condition, that he was indeed the son of 
a great noble who had turned him out of doors for some 
fancied misdeed, and from whom he had in reality 
nothing to expect. Such was the girl’s present belief. 

Now, however, he had suddenly declared that his 
father and his brother were dead. With a woman’s 
keenness she took alarm at this new development. 
She really loved the poor man with all her heart. 
If this new addition to his story were a mere invention, 
it was a sign that his madness was growing upon him, 
and she had heard her companions discuss their com- 
rade often enough to know that, in their opinion, if he 
began to grow worse, he would very soon be in the 
madhouse. It was bad enough to go through what she 
suffered so often, to see the inward struggle expressed 
on his face, whenever he chanced to be alone with her 
on a Tuesday afternoon, to hear from his lips the same 
assurance of love, the same offer of marriage, and to 
know that all would be forgotten and that his manner 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


137 


to her would change again, by Thursday, to that of a 
uniform, considerate kindness. It was bad enough, for 
the girl loved him and was sensitive. But it would be 
worse — how much worse she dared not think — to see 
him go mad before her very eyes, to see him taken 
away at last from the midst of them all to the huge 
brick house in the outskirts of the city beyond the 
Isar. 

One more hypothesis remained. This time the story 
might turn out true. She believed in his birth and in 
his misfortunes, and in the existence of his father and 
his brother. They might indeed be dead, as he had 
told her, and he would then, perhaps, be sole master in 
their stead — she did not know how that would be in 
Russia. But then, if it were all true, he must go away 
— and her life would be over, with its loving hope and 
its hopeless love. 

It is small wonder that Vjera did not sleep that night. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Once or twice in the course of the night, the Count 
changed his position, got up, stretched himself and 
paced the length of the room. Dumnoff lay like a log 
upon his pallet, his head thrown back, his mouth open, 
snoring with the strong bass vibration of a thirty-two- 
foot organ pipe. The Count looked at him occasionally, 
but did not envy him his power of sleep. His own re- 
flections were in a measure more agreeable than any 
dream could have been, certainly more so in his judg- 
ment than the visions of unlimited cabbage soup, vodka, 
and flghting which were doubtless delighting Dumnoff’s 
slumbering soul. 

As the church clocks struck one hour after another, 
his spirits rose. He had, indeed, never had the least 
apprehension concerning his own liberty, since he knew 
himself to be perfectly innocent. He only desired to 
be released as soon as possible in order to repair the 
damage done to his coat and collar before the earliest 
hour at which the messengers of good news could be 
expected at his house. Meanwhile he cared little 
whether he spent the night on a bench in the police- 
station, or on one of the rickety wooden chairs which 
afforded the only sitting accommodation in his own 
room. He could not sleep in either case, for his brain 
138 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 139 

was too wide awake with the anticipations of the 
morrow, and with the endless plans for future happi- 
ness which suggested themselves. 

At last he was aware that the nature of the light in 
the room was changing and that the white ground 
glass of the lantern was illuminated otherwise than by 
the little flame within. The high window, as he looked 
up, was like a grey figure cut out of dark paper, and 
the dawn was stealing in at last. 

“Wednesday at last!” he exclaimed softly to him- 
self. “ Wednesday at last ! ” A gentle smile spread 
over his tired face, and made it seem less haggard and 
drawn than it really was. 

The day broke, and somewhere not far from the 
window, the birds all began to sing at once, filling 
the room with a continuous strain of sound, loud, 
clear and jubilant. The soft spring air seemed to 
awake, as though it had itself been sleeping through 
the still night and must busy itself now in sending the 
sweet breezes upon their errands to the flowers. 

“ I always thought it would come in spring,” thought 
the Count, as he listened to the pleasant sounds, and 
then held one of his yellow hands up to the window to 
feel the freshness that was without. 

He wondered how long it would be before Fische- 
lowitz would come and tell the truth of the Gigerl’s 
story. By his knowledge of the time of daybreak, he 
guessed that it was not yet much past four o’clock, and 
he doubted whether Fischelowitz would come before 
eight. The tobacconist was a kind man, but a com- 


140 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

fortable one, loving his rest and his breakfast and his 
ease at all times. Moreover, as the Count knew better 
than any one else, Akulina would be rejoiced to hear 
of the misadventure which had befallen her enemy and 
would in no way hurry her husband upon his mission 
of justice. She would doubtless consume an unusual 
amount of time in the preparation of his coffee, she 
would presumably tell him that the milkman had not 
appeared punctually, and would probably assert that 
there were as yet no rolls to be had. The immediate 
consequence of these spiteful fictions would be that 
Fischelowitz would dress himself very leisurely, swal- 
lowing the smoke of several cigarettes in the mean- 
while, and that he would hardly be clothed, fed and 
out of the house before eight in the morning, instead 
of being on the way to the shop at seven as was his 
usual practice. 

But the Count was not at all disturbed by this. The 
persons whose coming he expected were not of the 
class who pay visits at eight o’clock. It wae as pleas- 
ant to sit still and think of the glorious things in the 
future, as to do anything else, until the great moment 
came. Here, at least, he was undisturbed by the voices of 
men, unless Dumnoff’s portentous snore could be called 
a voice, and to this his ear had grown accustomed. 

He sat dawn again, tlierefore, in his old position, 
crossed one knee over the other and again produced 
the piece of crumpled newspaper which held his tobacco. 
The supply was low, but he consoled himself with the 
belief that Dumnoff probably had some about him. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 141 

and rolled what remained of his own for immediate 
consumption. 

He was quite right in his surmises concerning his late 
employer and the latter’s wife. Akulina had in the 
first place let her husband sleep as long as he pleased, 
and had allowed a considerable time to elapse before 
informing him of the events of the previous evening. 
As was to be expected, the good man stated his inten- 
tion of immediately procuring the Count’s liberation, 
and was only prevailed upon with difficulty to taste 
his breakfast. One taste, however, convinced him of 
the necessity of consuming all that was set before him, 
and while he was thus actively employed Akulina 
entered into the consideration of the theft, recalling 
all the details she could remember about the intimacy 
supposed to exist between the Count and the swin- 
dler in coloured glasses, and conscientiously showing 
the matter in all its aspects. 

“ One fact remains,” she said, in conclusion, “ he 
promised you upon his honour last night that he would 
pay you the fifty marks to-day, and, in my opinion, 
since he has been the means of your losing the Gigerl 
after all, he ought to be made to pay the money.” 

“And where can he get fifty marks to pay me?” 
inquired Fischelowitz with careless good-humour. 

“Where he got the doll, I suppose,” said Akulina, 
triumphantly completing the vicious circle in which 
she caused her logic to move. 

Fischelowitz smiled as he pushed away his cup, rose, 
and lighted a fresh cigarette. 


142 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ You are a very good housekeeper, Akulina, my love,” 
he observed. “You always know how the money goes.” 

“ That is more than can be said for some people,” 
laughed Akulina. “ But never mind, Christian Gre- 
gorovitch, your wife is only a weak woman, but she 
can take care for two, never fear ! ” 

Fischelowitz was of the same opinion, as he, at last, 
took his hat and left the house. To him, the whole 
affair had a pleasant savour of humour about it, and 
he was by no means so much disturbed as Johann 
Schmidt or Vjera. He had lived in Munich many 
years and understood very well the way in which 
things are managed in the good-natured Bavarian 
capital. A night in the police-station in the month 
of May seemed by no means such a terrible affair, cer- 
tainly not a matter involving any great suffering to 
any one concerned. Moreover it could not be helped, 
a consideration which, when available, was a great 
favourite with the rotund tobacconist. Whatever the 
Count had done on the previous night, he said to him- 
self, was done past undoing; and though, if he had 
found Akulina awake when he returned from spend- 
ing the evening with his friend, and if she had then 
told him what had happened, he would certainly have 
made haste to get the Count released — yet, since 
Akulina had been sound asleep, he had necessarily 
gone to bed in ignorance of the story, to the temporary 
inconvenience of the arrested pair. 

He was not long in procuring an order for the 
Count’s release, but Dumnoff’s case seemed to be con- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 143 

sidered as by far the graver of the two, since he had 
actually been guilty of grasping the sacred, green legs 
of two policemen, at the time in the execution of their 
duty, and of violently turning the aforesaid policemen 
upside down in the public room of an eating-house. 
It was, indeed, reckoned as favourable to him that he 
had returned and submitted to being handcuffed with- 
out offering further resistance, but it might have gone 
hard with him if Fischelowitz had not procured the 
co-operation of a Munich householder and taxpayer to 
bail him out until the inquiry should be made. It 
would have been a serious matter for Fischelowitz to 
lose the work of Dumnoff in his “ celebrated manufac- 
tory ” for any length of time together, since it was all 
he could do to meet the increasing demands for his 
wares with his present staff of workers. 

“And how did you spend the night. Count?” he 
inquired as they walked quickly down the street 
together. Dumnoff had made off in the opposite direc- 
tion, in search of breakfast, after which he intended to go 
directly to the shop, as though nothing had happened. 

“ I spent it very pleasantly, thank you,” answered 
the Count. “ The fact is that, with such an interest- 
ing day before me, I should not have slept if I had 
been at home. I have so much to think of, as you may 
imagine, and so many preparations to make, that the 
time cannot seem long with me.” 

“ I am glad of that,” said Fischelowitz, serenely. “ I 
suppose we shall not see you to-day ? ” 

“ Hardly — hardly,” replied the Count, as though 


144 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

considering whether his engagements would allow him 
to look in at the shop. “ You will certainly see me 
this evening, at the latest,” he added, as if he had sud- 
denly recollected something. “ I have not forgotten 
that 1 am to hand you fifty marks — I only regret that 
you should have lost the Gigerl, which, I think I have 
heard you say, afforded you some amusement. How- 
ever, the money shall be in your hands without delay, 
or with as little delay as possible. My friends will in 
all probability arrive by the mid-day train and will, of 
course, come to me at once. An hour or so to talk 
over our affairs, and I shall then have leisure to come 
to you for a few moments and to settle that unfortu- 
nate affair. Not indeed, my dear Herr Fischelowitz, 
that I have ever held myself responsible for the dis- 
honest young man who wore green spectacles. I was, 
indeed, a loser by him myself, in an insignificant sum, 
and, as he turned out to be such an indifferent char- 
acter, I do not mind acknowledging the fact. I do not 
think it can harm him if I do. No. I was not respon- 
sible for him to you, but since your excellent wife, 
Frau Fischelowitz, labours under the impression that I 
was, I am quite willing to accept the responsibility, and 
shall therefore discharge the debt before night, as a 
matter of honour.” 

“ It is very kind of you,” remarked the tobacconist, 
smiling at the impressive manner in which the promise 
was made. “ But of course. Count, if anything should 
prevent the arrival of your friends, you will not con- 
sider this to be an engagement.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


145 


“Nothing will prevent the coming of those I expect, 
nor, if anything could, would such an accident prevent 
my fulfilling an engagement which, since your excel- 
lent wife’s remarks last night, I do consider binding 
upon my honour. And now, Herr Fischelowitz, with 
my best thanks for your intervention this morning, I 
will leave you. After the vicissitudes to which I have 
been exposed during the last twelve hours, my appear- 
ance is not what I could wish it to be. I have the 
pleasure to wish you a very good morning.” 

Shaking his companion heartily by the hand, the 
Count bowed civilly and turned into an unfrequented 
street. Fischelowitz looked after him a few seconds, 
as though expecting that he would turn back and say 
something more, and then walked briskly in the direc- 
tion of his shop. 

He found Akulina standing at the door which led 
into the workroom, in such a position as to be able to 
serve a customer should any chance to enter, and yet 
so placed as to see the greater part of her audience. 
For she was holding forth volubly in her thick, strong 
voice, giving her very decided opinion about the events 
of the previous evening, and of the Count, considered 
in the first place as a specimen of the human race, and 
secondly, as in relation to his acts. Her hearers were 
poor Vjera, her insignificant companion, and the Cos- 
sack, who listened, so to say, without enthusiasm, 
unless the occasional foolish giggle of the younger girl 
was to be taken for the expression of applause. 

“ I am thoroughly sick of his crazy ways,” she was 


146 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


saying, “ and if he were not really such a good work- 
man we should have turned him out long ago. But he 
really does make cigarettes very well, and with the 
new shop about to be opened, and the demand there is 
already, it is all we can do to keep people satisfied. 
Not but what my husband has been talking lately of 
getting a new workman from Vilna, and if he turns 
out to be all that we expect, why the Count may go 
about his business and we shall be left in peace at last. 
Indeed it is high time. My poor nerves will not stand 
many more such scenes as last night, and as for my 
poor husband, I believe he has lost as much money 
through the Count and his friends as he has paid to 
him for work, and if you turn that into figures it makes 
the cigarettes he rolls, worth six marks a thousand 
instead of three, which is more than any pocket can 
stand, while there are children to be fed at home. 
And if you have anything to say to that, little husband, 
why just say it ! ” 

Fischelowitz had entered the shop and the last words 
were addressed to him. 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing,” he answered, beginning to 
bustle cheerily about the place, setting a box straight 
here, removing an empty one there, opening the till 
and counting the small change, and, generally, doing 
all those things which he was accustomed to do when 
he appeared in the morning. 

Poor Vjera looked paler and more waxen than ever 
in her life before ; so pale indeed was she that the total 
absence of colour lent a sort of refinement to her plain 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 147 

features, not often found even in really beautiful faces. 
She had suffered intensely and was suffering still. 
F’rom the first words that Akulina had spoken she had 
understood that the Count had been in the station- 
house all night, and she found herself reviewing all 
the hideous visions of his cruel treatment which she 
had conjured up since the previous evening. Akulina 
of course hastened to say that Fisclielowitz had lost no 
time in having the poor man set at liberty, and this 
at least was a relief to Vjera’s great anxiety. But she 
wanted to hear far more than Akulina could or would 
tell, she longed to know whether he had really suffered 
as she fancied he had, and how he looked after spend- 
ing in a prison the night that had seemed so long to 
her. She would have given anything to overwhelm 
the tobacconist with questions, to ask for a minute 
description of the Count’s appearance, to express her 
past terrors to some one and to have some one tell her 
that they had been groundless. 

But she dared not open her lips to speak of the 
matters which filled her thoughts. She was so 
wretchedly nervous that she felt as though the tears 
would break out at the sound of her own voice, and at 
the same time she was disturbed by the consciousness 
that Johann Schmidt’s eyes watched her closely from 
the corner in which he was steadily wielding his swivel 
knife. It had been almost natural to tell him of her 
love in the darkness of the streets, in the mad anxiety 
for the loved one’s safety, in the weariness and the 
hopelessness of the night hours. But now, sitting at 


148 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


her little table, at her daily work, with all the trivial 
objects that belonged to it recalling her to the reality 
of things, she realised that her day-dreams were no 
longer her secret, and she was ashamed that any one 
should guess the current of her thoughts. It was hard 
for her to understand how she could have thus taken 
the Cossack into her confidence, and she would have 
made almost any sacrifice to take back the confession. 
Good he was, and honest, and kind-hearted, but she 
was ashamed of what she had done. It seemed to her 
that, besides giving up to another the knowledge of 
her heart, she had also done something against the 
dignity of him she loved. She herself felt no superi- 
ority over Johann Schmidt; they were equals in every 
way. But she did feel, and strongly, that the Cossack 
was not the equal of the Count, and she reproached 
herself with having made a confidant of one beneath 
her idol in station and refinement. This feeling sprang 
from such a multiplicity of sources, as almost to defy 
explanation. There was, at the bottom of it, the 
strange, unreasoning notion of the superiority of one 
class over another by right of blood, from which no 
race seems to be wholly exempt, and which has pro- 
duced such surprising results in the world. Poor Vjera 
had been brought up in one of those countries where 
that tradition is still strongest. The mere sound of 
the word “Count” evoked a body of impressions so 
firmly rooted, so deeply ingrained, as necessarily to 
influence her judgment. The outward manner of the 
man did the rest, his dignity under all circumstances, 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 149 

his uncomplaining patience, his unquestioning gener- 
osity, his quiet courtesy to every one. There was 
something in every word he spoke, in his every action, 
which distinguished him from his companions. They 
themselves felt it. He was sometimes ridiculous, poor 
man, and they laughed together over his carefully 
chosen language, over the grand sweep of his bow and 
his punctilious attention to the smallest promise or 
shadow of a promise. These things amused them, but 
at the same time they felt that he could never be what 
they were, and that those manners and speeches of his, 
which, if they had imitated them, would have seemed 
in themselves so many forms of vulgarity, were some- 
how not vulgar in him. Vjera, as she loved him, felt 
all this far more keenly than the others. And besides, 
to add to her embarrassment at present, there was the 
girl’s maidenly shyness and timidity. Since she had 
told Johann Schmidt her secret, she felt as though all 
eyes were upon her, and as though every one were 
about to turn upon her with those jesting questions 
which coarse natures regard as expressions of sym- 
pathy where love is concerned. And yet no one spoke 
to her, nor disturbed her. There was only the dis- 
quieting consciousness of the Cossack’s curious scrutiny 
to remind her that all things were not as they had been 
yesterday. 

The hours of the morning seemed endless. On all 
other days, Vjera was accustomed to see the Count’s 
quiet face opposite to her, and when she was most 
weary of her monotonous toil, a glance at him gave 


150 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


her fresh courage, and turned the currents of her 
thoughts into a channel not always smooth indeed, 
but long familiar and never wearisome to follow. The 
stream emptied, it is true, into the dead sea of doubt, 
and each time, as she ended the journey of her fancy, 
she felt the cruel chill of the conclusion, as though she 
had in reality fallen into a deep, dark water ; but she 
was always able to renew the voyage, to return to the 
fountain-head of love, enjoying at least the pleasant, 
smooth reaches of the river, that lay between the 
racing rapids and the tumbling falls. 

But to-day there was no one at the little table 
opposite, and Vjera’s reflections would not be guided 
in their familiar course. Her heart yearned for the 
lonely man who, on that day, sat in the solitude of his 
poor chamber confidently expecting the messengers of 
good tidings who never came. She wondered what 
expression was on his face, as he watched the door 
and listened for the fall of feet upon the stairs. She 
knew, for she knew his nature, that he had carefull}^ 
dressed himself in what he had that was best, in 
order to receive decently the long-expected visit ; she 
fancied that he would move thoughtfully about the 
narrow room, trying to give it a feebly festive look in 
accordance with his own inward happiness. He would 
forget to eat, as he sat there, hearing the hours chime 
one after another, seeing the sun rise higher and 
higher until noon, and watching the lengthening 
shadows of the chimneys on the roofs as day declined. 
More than all, she wondered what that dreadful mo- 


A cigakette-maker’s romance 


151 


ment could be like when, each week, he gave up hope 
at last, and saw that it had all been a dream. She had 
seen him more than once, towards the evening of the 
regularly recurring day, still confidently expecting the 
coming of his friends, explaining that they must come 
by the last train, and hastening away in order to be 
ready to receive them. Somewhere between the 
Wednesday evening and the Thursday morning there 
must be an hour, of which she hardly dared to think, 
in which all was made clear to him, or in which a veil 
descended over all, shutting out in merciful obscurity 
the brilliant vision and the bitter disappointment. If 
she could only be with him at that moment, she 
thought, she might comfort him, she might make his 
sufferings more easy to bear, and at the idea the tears 
that were so near rose nearer still to the flowing, kept 
back only by shame of being seen. 

It was a terrible day, and everything jarred upon 
the poor girl’s nature, from Akulina’s thick, strong 
voice, continually discussing the question of marks and 
pennies, with occasional allusions to late events, to the 
disagreeable, scratching, paring sound of the Cossack’s 
heavy knife as it cut its way through the great pack- 
ages of leaves. The mid-day hour afforded no relief, 
for the pressure of work was gredt and each of the 
workers had brought a little food to be eaten in haste 
and almost without a change of position. For the 
work was paid for in proportion to its quantity, and 
the poor people were glad enough when there was so 
much to do, since there was then just so much more 


152 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


to be earned. There were times when the demand 
was slack and when Fischelowitz would not keep his 
people at their tables for more than two or three hours 
in a day. They might occupy the rest of their time 
as they could, and earn something in other ways, if 
they were able. When those hard times came poor 
Vjera picked up a little sewing, paid for at starvation 
rates, Johann Schmidt turned his hand to the repairing 
of furs, in which he had some skill, and which is an 
art in itself, and Dumnoff varied his existence by 
exercising great economy in the matter of food with- 
out making a similar reduction in the allowance of 
his drink. Under ordinary circumstances Vjera would 
have rejoiced at the quantity of work to be done, and 
as it was, her mental suffering did not make her fingers 
awkward or less nervously eager in the perpetual roll- 
ing of the little pieces of paper round the glass tube. 
Even acute physical pain is often powerless to affect 
the mechanical skill of a hand trained for many years 
to repeat the same little operation thousands of times 
in a day with unvarying perfection. Vjera worked as 
well and as quickly as ever, though the hours seemed 
so endlessly long as to make her wonder why she did 
not turn out more work than usual. From time to 
time the two men exchanged more or less personal 
observations after their manner. 

“ It seems to me that you work better than usual,” 
remarked the Cossack, looking at Dumnoff. 

“ I feel better,” laughed the latter. “ I feel as though 
I had been having a holiday and a country dance.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


153 


“For the sake of your health, you ought to have a 
little excitement now and then,” continued Schmidt. 
“ It is hard for a man of your constitution to be shut 
up day after day as you are here. A little bear-fight 
now and then would do you almost as much good as 
an extra bottle of brandy, besides being cheaper.” 

“Yes.” Dumnoff yawned, displaying all his fero- 
cious white teeth to the assembled company. “That 
is true — and then, those green cloth policemen look so 
funny when one upsets them. I wish 1 had a few here.” 

“ You have not heard the last of your merry-making 
yet,” said Fischelowitz, who was standing in the door- 
way. “ If I had not got you out this morning you 
would still be in the police-station.” 

“There is something in that,” observed Schmidt. 
“If he were not out, he would still be in.” 

“Well, if I were, I should still be asleep,” said 
Dumnoff. “That would not be so bad, after all.” 

“You may be there again before long,” suggested 
Fischelowitz. “You know there is to be an inquiry. 
I only hope you will do plenty of work before they 
lock you up for a fortnight.” 

“I suppose they will let me work in prison,” 
answered Dumnoff, indiifferently. “They do in some 
places.” 

Vjera, whose ideas of prisons have been already 
explained at length, was so much surprised that she 
at last opened her lips. 

“Have you ever been in prison?” she asked in a 
wondering tone. 


154 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

“ Several times,” replied the other, without looking 
up. “Bub always,” he added, as though suddenly 
anxious for his reputation, “ always for that sort of 
thing — for upsetting somebody who did not want to 
be upset. It is a curious thing — I always do it in 
the same way, and they always tumble down. One 
would think people would learn — ” He paused as 
though considering a profound problem. 

“ Perhaps they are not always the same people,” 
remarked the Cossack. 

“ That is true. That may have something to do 
with it.” The ex-coachman relapsed into silence. 

“But, is it not very dreadful — in prison?” asked 
Vjera, rather timidly, after a short pause. 

“No — if one can sleep well, the time passes very 
pleasantly. Of course, one is not always as comfortable 
as we were last night. That is not to be expected.” 

“ Comfortable ! ” exclaimed the girl, in surprise. 

“ Well — we had a nice room with a good light, and 
there happened to be nobody else in for the night. It 
was dry and clean and well furnished — rather hard 
beds, I believe, though I scarcely noticed them. We 
smoked and talked some time and then I went to 
sleep. Oh, yes — I passed a very pleasant evening, 
and a comfortable night.” 

“But I thought — ” Vjera hesitated, as though fear- 
ing that she was going to say something foolish. “ I 
thought that prisoners always had chains,” she said, 
at last. 

Everybody laughed loudly at this remark, and the 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 155 

poor girl felt very much ashamed of herself, though 
the question had seemed so natural and had been in 
her mind a long time. It was an immense relief, how- 
ever, to know that things had not been so bad as she 
had imagined, and Dumnoff’s description of the place 
of his confinement was certainly reassuring. 

As the endless day wore on, she began to glance 
anxiously towards the door, straining her ears for a 
familiar footstep in the outer shop. As has been said, 
tlie Count sometimes looked in on Wednesdays, when 
his calculations had convinced him that his friends, not 
having arrived by one train, could not be expected for 
several hours. But to-day he did not come, to-day 
when Vjera would have given heaven and earth for a 
sight of him. Never, in her short life, had she realised 
how slowly the hours could limp along from sunrise to 
noon, from noon to sunset, never had the little spot 
of sunlight which appeared in the back-shop on fine 
afternoons taken so long to crawl its diagonal course 
from the left front-leg of Dumn oil’s table, where it 
made its appearance, to the right-hand corner of her 
own, at which point it suddenly went out and was 
seen no more, being probably intercepted by some 
fixed object outside. 

Time is the measure of most unhappiness, for it is 
in sorrow and anxiety that we are most keenly con- 
scious of it, and are oppressed by its leaden weight. 
When we are absorbed in work, in study, in the pro- 
duction of anything upon which all our faculties are 
concentrated, we say that the time passes quickly. 


156 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


When we are happy we know nothing of time nor of 
its movement, only, long afterwards, we look back, and 
we say, “ How short the hours seemed then ! ” 

Vjera toiled on and on, watching the creeping sun- 
shine on the floor, glancing at the ever-increasing heap 
of cut leaves that fell from the Cossack’s cutting-block, 
noting the slow rise in the pile of paper shells before 
her and comparing it with that produced by the girl 
at her elbow, longing for the moment when she would 
see the freshly made cigarettes just below the inner 
edge of Dumnofl’s basket, taking account of every 
little thing by which to persuade herself that the 
day was declining and the evening at hand. 

Her life was sad and monotonous enough at the best 
of times. It seemed as though the accidents of the 
night had made it by contrast ten times more sad and 
monotonous and hopeless than before. 


CHAPTER IX 


The Count, as Vjera supposed, had dressed himself 
with even greater care than usual in anticipation of 
the official visit, and while she was working through 
the never-ending hours of her weary day, he was 
calmly seated upon a chair by the open window in his 
little room, one leg crossed over the other, one hand 
thrust into the bosom of his coat and the other ex- 
tended idly upon the table by his side. His features 
expressed the perfect calm and satisfaction of a man 
who knows that something very pleasant is about to 
happen, who has prepared himself for it, and who sits 
in the midst of his swept and garnished dwelling in an 
attitude of pleased expectancy. 

The Count’s face was tired, indeed, and there were 
dark circles under his sunken grey eyes, brought there 
by loss of sleep as much as by an habitual facility for 
forgetting to eat and drink. But in the eyes them- 
selves there was a bright, unusual light, as though 
some brilliant spectacle were reflected in them out of 
the immediate future. There was colour, too, in his 
lean cheeks, a slight flush like that which comes into 
certain dark faces with the anticipation of any keen- 
pleasure. As he sat in his chair, he looked constantly 
at the door of the room, as though expecting it to open 
167 


158 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

at any moment. From time to time, voices and foot- 
steps were heard on the stairs, far below. When any 
of these sounds reached him, the Count rose gravely 
from his seat, and stood in the middle of the room, 
slowly rubbing his hands together, listening again, 
moving a step to the one side or the other and back 
again, in the mechanical manner of a person to whom a 
visitor has been announced and who expects to see him 
appear almost immediately. But the footsteps echoed 
and died away and the voices were still again. The 
Count stood still a few moments when this happened, 
satisfying himself that he had been mistaken, and then, 
shaking his head and once more passing his hands 
round each other, he resumed his seat and his former 
attitude. He listened also for the chiming of the hours, 
and when he was sure that an hour had passed since 
the arrival of his imaginary express train, he rose again, 
looked out of the window, watched the wheeling of the 
house swallows, and assumed an air of momentary 
indifference. The next ringing of the clock bells re- 
vived the illusion. Another train was doubtless just 
running in to the station, and in a quarter of an hour 
his friends might be with him. There was no time to 
be lost. The flush returned to his cheeks as he hastily 
combed his smooth hair for the twentieth time, examin- 
ing his appearance minutely in the dingy, spotted mir- 
ror, brushing his clothes — far too well brushed these 
many years — and lastly making sure that there was no 
weak point in the adjustment of his false collar. He 
made another turn of inspection round his little room. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


159 


feeling sure that there was just time to see that all was 
right and in order, but already beginning to listen for 
a noise of approaching people on the stairs. Once more 
he straightened and arranged the patched coverlet of 
Turkey red cotton upon the bed, so that it should hide 
the pillows and the sheets ; once more he adjusted the 
clean towel neatly upon the wooden peg over the wash- 
ing-stand, discreetly concealing the one he had used in 
the drawer of the table ; for the last time he made sure 
that the chair which had the broken leg was in such 
close and perfect contact with the wall as to make it 
safely serviceable if not rashly removed into a wider 
sphere of action. Then, as he passed the chest of 
drawers, he gave a final touch to the half-dozen ragged- 
edged books whicli composed his library — three vol- 
umes of Puschkin, of three different editions, Ivan 
Kryloff’s Poems and Fables^ Gogol’s Terrible Revenge^ 
Tolstoi’s How People Live^ and two or three more, 
including Koltsoff, the shepherd poet, and an ancient 
guide to the city of Kiew — as heterogeneous a collec- 
tion of works as could be imagined, yet all notable in 
-their way, except, indeed, the guide-book, for beauty, 
power, or touching truth. 

And when he had touched and straightened every- 
thing in the room, he returned to his seat, calmly 
expectant as ever, to wait for the footsteps on the 
stairs, to rise and rub his hands, if the sound reached 
him, to shake his head gravely if he were again disap- 
pointed, in short to go through the same little round of 
performance as before until some chiming clock sug- 


160 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


gested to his imagination that the train had come and 
brought no one, and that he might enjoy an interval of 
distraction in looking out of the window until the next 
one arrived. The Count must have had a very exag- 
gerated idea of the facility of communication between 
Munich and Russia, for he assuredly stood waiting for 
his friends, combed, brushed, and altogether at his best, 
more than twenty times between the morning and the 
evening. As the day declined, indeed, his imaginary 
railway station must have presented a scene of dan- 
gerous confusion, for his international express trains 
seemed to come in quicker and quicker succession, 
until he barely had time to look out of the window 
before it became necessary to comb his hair again in 
order to be ready for the next possible arrival. At 
last he walked perpetually on a monotonous beat from 
the window to the mirror, from the mirror to the door, 
and from the door to the mirror again. 

Suddenly he stopped and tapped his forehead with 
his hand. The sun was setting and the last of his 
level rays shot over the sea of roofs and the forest of 
chimneys and entered the little room in a broad red 
stream, illuminating the lean, nervous figure as it stood 
still in the ruddy light. 

“ Good Heavens ! ” exclaimed the Count, in a tone of 
great anxiety, “ I have forgotten Fischelowitz and his 
money.” 

There was a considerable break in the continuity of 
the imaginary time-table, for he stood still a long time, 
in deep thought. He was arguing the case in his mind. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 161 

What he had promised was, to consider the fifty marks 
as a debt of honour. Now a debt of honour must be 
paid within twenty-four hours. No doubt, thought the 
Count, it would not be altogether impossible to con- 
sider the twenty-four hours as extending from mid- 
night to midnight. The Russians have an expression 
which means a day and a night together — they call 
that space of time the sutki, and it is a more or less 
elastic term, as we say “ from day to day,” “ from one 
evening to another.” Rooms in Russian hotels are let 
by the sutki, railway tickets are valid for one or more 
sutki, and the Count might have chosen to consider 
that his sutki extended from the time when he had 
spoken to Fischelowitz until twelve o’clock on the fol- 
lowing night. But he had no means of knowing 
exactly what the time had been when he had been in 
the shop, and his punctilious ideas of honour drove him 
to under-estimate the number of hours still at his dis- 
posal. Moreover, and this last consideration deter- 
mined his action, if he brought the money too late it 
was to be feared that Fischelowitz would have shut up 
the shop, after which there would be no certainty of 
finding him. The Count wished to make the restitu- 
tion of the money in Akulina’s presence, but he was 
also determined to give the fifty marks directly to the 
tobacconist. 

He saw that the sun was going down, and that there 
was no time to be lost. It occurred to him at the same 
instant that if he was to pay the debt at all, he must 
find money for that purpose, and although, in his own 


162 


A cigakette-makek’s romance 


belief, he was to be master of a large fortune in the 
course of the evening, no scheme for raising so con- 
siderable a sum as fifty marks presented itself to his 
imagination. Poor as he was, he was far more used to 
lending than to borrowing, and more accustomed to 
giving than to either. He regretted, now, that he had 
bound himself to pay the debt to-day. It would have 
been so easy to name the next day but one. But who 
could have foreseen that his friends would miss that 
particular train and only arrive late in the evening ? 

He paced his room in growing anxiety, his trouble 
increasing in exact proportion with the decrease of the 
daylight. 

“ Fifty marks ! ” he exclaimed, in dismay, as he real- 
ised more completely the dilemma in which he was 
placed. “ Fifty marks ! It is an enormous sum to 
find at a moment’s notice. If they had only telegraphed 
me a credit at once, I could have got it from a bank — 
a bank — yes — but they do not know me. That is it. 
They do not know me. And then, it is late.” 

The drops of perspiration stood on his pale forehead 
as he began to walk again. He glanced at his posses- 
sions and turned from the contemplation of them in 
renewed despair. Many a time, before, he had sought 
among his very few belongings for some object upon 
which a pawnbroker might advance five marks, and he 
had sought in vain. The furniture of the room was 
not his, and beyond the furniture the room contained 
little enough. He had parted long ago with an old 
silver watch, of which the chain had even sooner found 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 163 

its way to the lender’s. A long-cherished ring had dis- 
appeared last winter, by an odd coincidence, at the very 
time when Johann Schmidt’s oldest child was lying ill 
with diphtheria. As for clothing, he had nothing to 
offer. The secrets of his outward appearance were 
known to him alone, but they were of a nature to dis- 
courage the hope of raising money on coat or trousers. 
A few well-thumbed volumes of Russian authors could 
not be expected to find a brilliant sale in Munich at a 
moment’s notice. He looked about, and he saw that 
there was nothing, and he turned very pale. 

“And yet, before midnight, it must be paid,” he said. 
Then his face brightened again. “Before midnight — 
but they will be here before then, of course. Perhaps 
I may borrow the money for a few hours.” 

But in order to do this, or to attempt it, he must go 
out. What if his friends arrived at the moment when 
he was out of the house? 

“No,” he said, consulting his imaginary time-table, 
“there is no train now, for a couple of hours at least.” 

He took up his hat and turned to go. It struck him, 
however, that to provide against all possible accidents 
it would be as well to leave some written word upon 
his table, and he took up a sheet of writing paper and 
a pen. It was remarkable that there was a good supply 
of the former on the table, and that the inkstand contained 
ink in a fluid state, as though the Count were in the 
habit of using it daily. He wrote rapidly, in Russian. 

“ This line is to inform you that Count Skariatine is 
momentarily absent from his lodging on a matter of 


164 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


urgent importance, connected with a personal engage- 
ment. He will return as soon as possible and requests 
that you will have the goodness to wait, if you should 
happen to arrive while he is out.” 

He set the piece of notepaper upright, in a promi- 
nent position upon the table, and exactly opposite to 
the door. He did not indeed recollect that in the 
course of half an hour the room would be quite dark, 
and he was quite satisfied that he had taken every 
reasonable precaution against missing his visitors al- 
together. Once more he seized his hat, and a moment 
later he was descending the long flights of stairs 
towards the street. As he went, the magnitude of 
the sum of money he needed appalled him, and by the 
time he stepped out upon the pavement into the fresh 
evening air, he was in a state of excitement and 
anxiety which bordered on distraction. His brain 
refused to act any longer, and he was utterly incapable 
of thinking consecutively of anything, still less of 
solving a problem so apparently incapable of solution 
as was involved in the question of finding fifty marks 
at an hour’s notice. It was practically of little use to 
repeat the words “ Fifty marks ” incessantly and in an 
audible voice, to the great surprise of the few pedes- 
trians he met. It was far from likely that any of 
them would consider themselves called upon to stop 
in their walk and to produce two large gold pieces and 
a small one, for the benefit of an odd-looking stranger. 
And yet, as he hurried along the street, the poor Count 
had not the least idea where he was going, and if he 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


165 


should chance to reach any definite destination in his 
erratic course he would certainly be much puzzled 
to decide what he was to do upon his arrival. The 
one thing which remained clearly defined in his shaken 
intelligence was that he must pay to Fischelowitz the 
money promised within the limit of time agreed upon, 
or be disgraced for ever in his own eyes, as well as 
in the estimation of the world at large. The latter 
catastrophe would be bad enough, but nothing short 
of self-destruction could follow upon his condemnation 
of himself. 

A special Providence is said to watch over the 
movements of madmen, sleep-walkers and drunkards. 
Those who find difficulty in believing in the direct 
intervention of Heaven in very trivial matters of every- 
day life, are satisfied to put a construction of less 
tremendous import upon the facts in cases concerning 
the preservation of their irresponsible brethren. A 
great deal may be accounted for by considering what 
are the instincts of the body when momentarily lib- 
erated from the directing guidance of the mind. It 
has been already noticed in the course of this story 
that, when the Count did not know where he was 
going, he was generally making the best of his way to 
the establishment in which so much of his time was 
passed. This is exactly what took place on the 
present occasion. Conscious only of his debt, and not 
knowing where to find money with which to pay it, 
he was unwittingly hurrying towards the very place 
in which the payment was to be made, and, within a 


166 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


quarter of an hour of his leaving his lodging, he found 
himself standing on the pavement, over against the 
tobacconist’s shop, stupidly gazing at the glass door, 
the well-known sign and the familiar, dilapidated 
chalet of cigarettes which held a prominent place in 
the show window. No longer ago than yesterday 
afternoon the little Swiss cottage had been flanked by 
the Wiener Gigerl, whose smart red coat and insolent 
face had been the cause of so much disaster and anxi- 
ety during the past twenty-four hours. The very 
fact that the doll was no longer there, in its accus- 
tomed place, served to remind the Count of his rash 
promise to pay the money and dangerously increased 
the excitement which already possessed him. He 
wiped the cold drops from his brow and leaned for a 
moment against the brick wall behind him. He was 
dizzy, confused and tired. 

The tormenting thought that was driving him re- 
called his failing consciousness of outer things. He 
straightened himself again and made a step forward, 
as though he would cross the street, but paused again 
before his foot had left the pavement. Then he asked 
of his senses how he had got to the place where he 
stood. He did not remember traversing the familiar 
highways and byways by which he was accustomed 
daily to make his way from his lodging to the shop. 
Every object on the way had long been so well known 
to him as to cause a permanent impression in his 
brain, which was distinctly visible to him whenever 
he thought of the walk in any way, whether he had 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


167 


just been over the ground or not. He could not now 
account to himself for his being so near Fischelowitz’s 
shop, and he found it impossible to decide whether he 
had come thither by his usual route or not. It was 
still harder to explain the reason for his coming, since 
the fifty marks were no nearer to his hand than before, 
and without them it was useless to think of entering. 
As he stood there, hesitating and trying to grasp the 
situation more clearly, it grew, on the contrary, more 
and more confused. At the same time the bells of a 
neighbouring church struck the hour, and the clanging 
tone revived in his mind the other impression, which 
had possessed it all day, the impression that his friends 
were at that moment arriving at the railway station. 
The confusion in his thoughts became intolerable, and 
he covered his eyes with one hand, steadying himself 
by pressing the other against the wall. 

He did not know how long he had stood thus, when 
an anxious voice recalled him to outer things — a voice 
in which love, sympathy, tenderness, and anxiety for 
him had taken possession of the weak tones and lent 
them a passing thrill of touching music. 

“ In Heaven’s name — what is it ? Speak to me — I 
am Vjera — here, beside you.” 

He looked up suddenly, and seemed to recover his 
self-possession. 

“You came just in time, Vjera — God bless you. 

I ” he hesitated. “I think — 1 must have been a 

little dizzy with the heat. It is a warm evening — a 
very warm evening.” 


168 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


He pressed an old silk pocket-handkerchief to his 
moist brow, the pocket-handkerchief which he always 
had about him, freshly ironed and smoothly folded, on 
the day when he expected his friends. Vjera, her face 
pale with distress, passed her arm through his and made 
as though she would walk with him down the gentle 
slope of the street, which leads in the direction of the 
older city. He suffered himself to be led a few steps in 
silence. 

“ Where are you going, Vjera? ” he asked, stopping 
again and looking into her face. 

“ Wherever you like,” she said, trying to speak 
cheerfully. She saw that something terrible was hap- 
pening, and it was only by a desperate effort that she 
controlled the violent hysterical emotion that rose like 
a great lump in her throat. 

“Ah, that is it, Vjera,” he answered. “That is it. 
Where shall I go, child ? ” Then he laughed nervously. 
“ The fact is,” he continued, “ that I am in a very absurd 
position. I do not at all know what to do.” 

Perhaps he had tried to give himself courage by the 
attempt to laugh, but, in that case, he had failed for 
the present. In spite of his words his despair was evi- 
dent. His usually erect carriage was gone. His head 
sank wearily forward, his shoulders rounded themselves 
as though under a burden, his feet dragged a little as 
he tried to walk on again, and he leaned heavily on the 
young girl’s arm. 

“What is it?” she asked. “Tell me — perhaps I 
can help you — I mean — I beg your pardon,” she added. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 169 

humbly, “perhaps it would help you to speak of it. 
That sometimes makes things seem clearer just when 
they have been most confused.” 

“Perhaps so, Vjera, perhaps so. You are a very 
good girl, and you came just in time. I love you, 
Vjera — do not forget that I love you.” His voice was 
by turns sharp and suddenly low and monotonous, like 
that of a man talking in sleep. Altogether his manner 
was so strange that poor Vjera feared the very worst. 
The extremity of her anxiety kept her from losing her 
self-possession. For the first time in her life she felt 
that she was the stronger of the two, and that if he 
was to be saved it must be by her efforts rather than 
by anything he was now able to do for himself. She 
loved him, mad or sane, with an admiration and a 
devotion which took no account of his intellectual state 
except to grieve over it for his own sake. The belief 
that in this crisis she might be of use to him, strongly 
conquered the rising hysterical passion, and drove the 
tears so far from her eyes that she wondered vaguely 
why she had been so near to shedding them a few 
moments sooner. She pressed his arm with her hand. 

“ And I, too, I love you, with all my heart and soul,” 
she said. “And if you will tell me what has happened, 
I will do what I can — if it were my life that were 
needed. I know I can help you, for God will help me.” 

He raised his head a little and again stood still, gaz- 
ing into her eyes with an odd sort of childish wonder. 

“What makes you so strong, Vjera? You used to 
be a weak little thing.” 


170 


A cigarette-maker’s romakce 


“ Love,” she answered. 

It was strange to see such a man, outwardly lean, 
tough-looking, well put together and active, though 
not, indeed, powerful, looking at the poor white-faced 
girl and asking the secret of her strength, as though 
he envied it. But at that moment the natural situa- 
tion was reversed. His eyes were lustreless, tired, 
without energy. Hers were suddenly bright and flash- 
ing with determination, and with the expression of her 
new-found will. Vjera felt that all at once a change 
had come over her, the weak strings of her heart grew 
strong, the dreamy hopelessness of her thoughts fell 
away, leaving one clearly defined resolution in its place. 
The man she loved was going mad, and she would save 
him, cost what it might. 

That Faith, no larger than the tiniest mustard seed, 
but able to toss the mountains, as pebbles, from their 
foundations into the sea, is the determination to do the 
thing chosen to be done or to die — literally, to die — 
in the trying to do it. Death is farther from most of 
us than we fancy, and if we would but risk all, to win 
or lose all, we could almost always do the deed which 
looks so grimly impossible. Those who have faced 
great physical dangers, or who have been matched by 
fate against overwhelming odds of anxiety and trouble, 
alone know what great things are done when men stand 
at bay and face the world, and fate, and life, and death 
and misfortune, all banded together against them, and 
say in their hearts, “We will win this fight or die.” 
Then, at that word, when it is spoken earnestly, in sin- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


171 


cerity and truth, the iron will rises up and takes pos- 
session of the feeble body, the doubting soul shakes off 
its hesitating weakness, is drawn back upon itself like 
a strong bow bent double, is compressed and full of a 
terrible latent power, like the handful of deadly ex- 
plosive which, buried in the bosom of the rock, will 
presently shake the mighty cliff to its roots, as no thun- 
derbolt could shake it. 

Vjera had made up her mind that she would save 
the man she loved from the destruction which was 
coming upon him. How he was to be saved, she 
knew not, but then and there, on the pavement of the 
commonplace Munich street, she made her stand and 
faced the odds, as bravely as ever soldier faced the 
enemy’s triumphant charge, though she was only a 
forlorn little Polish shell-maker, without much health 
or strength, and having very little understanding of the 
danger beyond that which was given to her by her love. 

She fixed her eyes upon the Count’s face as though 
she would have him obey her. 

“I will help you, and make everything right,” she 
said. “ But you must tell me what the trouble is.” 

“ But how can you help me, child ? ” he asked, 
beginning to grow calmer under her clear gaze. “ It 
is such a very complicated case,” he continued, falling 
back gradually into his own natural manner. “You 
see, my friends have probably arrived by this train, 
and yet I cannot go home until I have set this other 
matter right with Fischelowitz. It is true, I have left 
a word written for them on my table, and perhaps they 


172 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

are there now, waiting for me, and if I went home I 
could have the money at once. But then — it may be 
too late before I get here again ” 

“What money?” asked Vjera, anxious to get at the 
truth without delay. 

“Oh, it is an absurd thing,” he answered, growing 
nervous again. “ Quite absurd — and yet, it is fifty 
marks — and until they come, T do not see what to do. 
Fifty marks — to-day it seems so much, and to-morrow 
it will seem so little ! ” He made a poor attempt to 
smile, but his voice trembled. 

“ But these fifty marks — what do you need them 
for to-night?” Vjera asked, not understanding at all. 
“ Will not to-morrow do as well ? ” 

“No, no! ” he cried in renewed anxiety. “It must 
be to-night, now, this very hour. If I do not pay the 
money, I am ruined, Vjera, disgraced for ever. It is 
a debt of honour — you do not understand what that 
means, child, nor how terrible it is for a man not to 
pay before the day is over — ah, if it were not a debt 
of honour I — but there is no time to be lost. It is 
almost dark already. Go home, dear Vjera, go home. 
I cannot go with you to-night, for I must find this 
money. Good-night — and then to-morrow — I have not 
forgotten, and you must not forget — but there is no 
time now — good-night I ” 

He suddenly broke away from her side and began 
walking quickly in the opposite direction, his head 
bent down, his arms swinging by his side. She ran 
after him and again took his arm, and looked into his face. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 173 

“You must not go away like this,” she said, so 
firmly and with so much authority that he stood still. 
“ You have only half explained the trouble to me, but 
I can help you. A debt of honour, you say — what 
will happen if you do not pay it ? ” 

“ I must die,” answered the Count. “ I could never 
respect myself again.” 

“You have borrowed this money of Fischelowitz and 
promised to pay it to-day ? Is that it ? Tell me.” 

“No — I never borrowed it. No, no — it was that 
villain, last winter, who gave him the Gigerl ” 

“ And Fischelowitz expects you to pay that ! ” cried 
Vjera, indignantly. “It is impossible.” 

“ When I took the Gigerl away last night I promised 
to bring the fifty marks by to-night. I gave my word, 
my word as a gentleman, Vjera, which I cannot break 
— my word, as a gentleman,” he repeated with some- 
thing of his old dignity. 

“ It is monstrous that Fischelowitz should have taken 
such a promise,” said Vjera. 

“ That does not alter the obligation,” answered the 
Count, proudly. “ Besides, I gave it of my own accord. 
I did not wait for him to ask it, after his wife accused 
me of being the means of his losing the money.” 

“ Oh, how could she be so heartless ! ” Vjera ex- 
claimed. 

“What was the use of telling you? I did not mean 
to. Good-night, Vjera dear — I must be quick.” He 
tried to leave her, but she held him fast. 

“ I will get you the money at once,” she said desper- 


174 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


ately and without the least hesitation. He started, in 
the utmost astonishment, staring at her as though he 
fancied that she had lost her senses. 

“You! Why, Vjera, how can you imagine that I 
would take it from you, or how do you think it would 
be possible for you to find it? You are mad, my dear 
child, quite mad ! ” 

In spite of everything, the tears broke from her 
eyes at the words which meant so much to her and 
which seemed to mean so little to him. But she brushed 
them bravely away. 

“You say you love me — you know that I love you. 
Do you trust me? Do you believe in me? And if 
you do, why then, believe that I will do what I say. 
And as for taking the fifty marks from me — will not 
your friends be here to-night, as you say, and will you 
not be able to give it all back very soon? Only wait 
here — or no, go into the shop and talk to Fischelowitz 
— I will bring it to you in less than an hour, I promise 
you that I will ” 

“But how? Oh, Vjera — I am in such trouble that 
I could almost bring myself to borrow it of you if you 
could lend it — I despise myself, but it is growing so 
late, and it will only be until to-morrow, only for a 
few hours perhaps. If you will wait to-night I may 
bring it to you before bedtime. But — are you sure, 
Vjera? Have you really got it? If I should wait 
here — and you should not find it — and my word 
should be broken ” 

“ For your word I give you mine. You shall have 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


175 


it in an hour.” She tried to throw so much certainty 
into her tone as might persuade him, and she suc- 
ceeded. “ Where will you wait for me ? In the 
shop ? ” she asked. 

“ No — not there. In the Cafe here — I am tired — 
I will sit down and drink a cup of coffee. I think I 
have a little money — enough for that.” He smiled 
faintly as he felt in his pockets. Then his face fell. 
On the previous evening, when they had led him away 
from the eating-house, he had carelessly given all he 
had — a mark and two pennies — to pay for his supper, 
throwing it to the fat hostess without any reckoning, 
as he went out. “ Never mind,” he said, after the 
fruitless search. “I will wait outside.” 

But Vjera thrust a silver piece into his hand and 
was gone before he could protest. And in this way 
she took upon herself the burden of the Count’s debt 
of honour. 


CHAPTER X 


Vjera turned her head when she had reached the 
corner of the street, and saw that the Count had dis- 
appeared. He had entered the Cafe, and had evidently 
accepted her assurance that she would bring the money 
without delay. So far, at least, she had been success- 
ful. Though by far the most difficult portion of the 
enterprise lay before her, she was convinced that if 
she could really, produce the fifty marks, the approach- 
ing catastrophe of total madness would be averted. 
Her determination was still so strong that she never 
doubted the possibility of performing her promise. 
Without hesitation, she returned to the shop, in search 
of Johann Schmidt, to whose energies and kindness 
she instinctively turned for counsel and help. As she 
came to the door she saw that he was just bidding 
good-night to his employer. She waited a moment 
and met him on the pavement as he came out. 

“I must have fifty marks in an hour, Herr Schmidt,” 
she said, boldly. “ If I do not get it, something dread- 
ful will happen.” 

“ Fifty marks ! ” exclaimed the Cossack in a tone of 
amazement. If she had said fifty millions, the shock 
to his financial sense could not have been more severe. 
“It is an enormous sum,” he said, slowly, while she 
176 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


177 


fixed her eyes upon him, waiting for his answer. 
“ What is the matter, Vjera ? Have you not been able 
to pay your rent this year, and has old Homolka threat- 
ened to turn you out? ” 

“ Oh, no ! It is worse than that, far worse than that ! 
If it were only myself ” she hesitated. 

“ What is it ? Who is it ? Perhaps it is not so 
serious as you think. Tell me all about it.” 

“ There is very little time — only an hour. He is 
going mad — really mad, Herr Schmidt, because he has 
given his word of honour to pay Herr Fischelowitz 
that money this evening. I only calmed him, by 
promising to bring the money at once.” 

“ You promised that ? ” exclaimed Schmidt. “ It was 
a very wild promise ” 

“I will keep it, and you must help me. We have 
an hour. If we do not succeed he will never be him- 
self again.” 

“ But fifty marks ! ” Schmidt could not recover 
from his astonishment. “ Oh, Vjera ! ” he exclaimed 
at last, in the simplicity of his heart, “ how you must 
love him ! ” 

“ I would do more than that — if I could,” she 
answered. “But come, you will help me, will you 
not ? I have a ten-mark piece and an old thaler put 
away at home. That makes thirteen, and two I have 
in my pocket, fifteen and — I am afraid that is all,” 
she concluded after a slight hesitation. 

“ And five are twenty,” said the Cossack, producing 
the six which he had, and taking one silver piece out 


178 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


of the number to be returned to his pocket. The 
children must not starve on the morrow. 

“ Oh, thank you, Herr Schmidt ! ” cried poor Vjera 
in a joyful voice as she eagerly took the proffered 
coins. “ Twenty already ! Why, twenty-five will be 
half, will it not ? And I am sure that we can find the 
rest, then.” 

“ There is Dumnoff,” said Schmidt. “ He probably 
has something, too.” 

“ But I could not borrow of him — besides, if he 
knew it was for the Count — and he is so rough — he 
would not give it to us.” 

“We shall see,” answered the other, who knew his 
man. “ Wait a moment. He is still inside.” 

He re-entered the shop, where Fischelowitz and his 
wife were conversing under the gaslight. 

“ I tell you,” Akulina was saying, “ that it is high 
time you got rid of him. The new workman from 
Vilna will take his place, and it is positively ridiculous 
to be made to submit to this madman’s humours and 
impertinence. What sort of a man are you, Christian 
Gregorovitch, to let the fellow carry off your Gigerl, 
with his airy promise to pay you the money to-day ? ” 

“ The Gigerl was broken,” observed the tobacconist. 

“ Oh, it could have been mended ; and if it was 
really stolen, was that our business, I would like to 
know? Nobody would ever have supposed, seeing it 
in our window, that it had been stolen. And it could 
have been mended, as I say, and might have been worth 
something after all. You never really tried to sell it, 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 179 

as you ought to have done from the very first. And 
now you have got nothing at all, nothing but that inso- 
lent maniac’s promise. If I were you I would take the 
money out of his wages, I would indeed ! ” 

“No doubt you would,” said Fischelowitz, with 
sincere conviction. 

Meanwhile Schmidt had gone into the back shop, 
where Dumnoff was still doggedly working, making 
up for the time he had lost by coming late in the 
morning. He was alone at his little table. 

“ How much money have you got ? ” asked the Cos- 
sack, briefly. Dumnoff looked up rather stupidly, 
dropped the cigarette he was making, and felt in his 
pocket for his change. He produced five marks, an 
unusual sum for him to have in his possession, and 
which would not have found itself in his hands had 
not his arrest on the previous evening prevented his 
spending considerably more than he had spent in his 
favourite corn-brandy. 

“ I want it all,” said Schmidt. 

“You are a cool-blooded fellow,” laughed Dumnoff, 
making as though he would return the coins to his 
pocket. 

“Look here, Dumnoff,” answered the Cossack, his 
bright eyes gleaming. “I want that money. You 
know me, and you had better give it to me without 
making any trouble.” 

Dumnoff seemed confused by the sharpness of the 
demand, and hesitated. 

“ You seem in a great hurry,” he said, with an awk- 


180 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


ward laugh, “I suppose you mean to give it back to 
me?” 

“ You shall have it at the rate of a mark a day in 
the next five work days. You will get your pay this 
evening, and that will be quite enough for you to get 
drunk with to-night.” 

“ That is true,” said Dumnoff, thoughtfully. “ Well, 
take it,” he added, slipping the money into the other’s 
outstretched palm. 

“ Thank you,” said the Cossack. “ You are not so 
bad as you look, Dumnoff. Good-night.” He was 
gone in a moment. 

Dumnoff stared at the door through which he had 
disappeared. 

“ After all,” he muttered, discontentedly, “ he could 
not have taken it by force. I wonder why I was such 
a fool as to give it to him I ” 

“ I tell you,” said Akulina to her husband as Schmidt 
passed through the outer shop, “that he will end by 
costing us so much in money lent, and squandered in 
charity, that the business will go to dust and feathers ! 
1 am only a weak woman, Christian Gregorovitch, but 
I have four children ” 

The Cossack heard no more, for he closed the street 
door behind him and returned to Vjera’s side. She 
was standing as he had left her, absorbed in the con- 
templation of the financial crisis. 

“Five more,” said he, giving her the silver. “That 
is one half. Now for the other. But are you quite 
sure, Vjera, that it is as bad as you think ? I know 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


181 


that Fischelowitz does not in the least expect the 
money.” 

“No — I daresay not. But I know this, if I had not 
met him just now and promised to bring him the fifty 
marks, he would have been raving mad before morning.” 
Schmidt saw by her look that she was convinced of the 
fact. 

“ Very well,” he said. “ I am not going to turn 
back now. The poor Count has done me many a good 
turn in his time, and I will do my best, though I do not 
exactly see what more I can do, at such short notice.” 

“ Have you got anything worth pawning, Herr 
Schmidt?” asked Vjera, ruthless, as devoted people 
can be when the object of their devotion is in danger. 

“Well — I have not much that I can spare. There 
is the bed — but my wife cannot sleep on the floor, 
though I would myself. And there are a few pots 
and pans in the kitchen — not worth much, and I do 
not know what we should do without them. I do not 
know, I am sure. I cannot take the children’s things, 
Vjera, even for you.” 

“ No,” said Vjera, doubtfully. “ I suppose not. Of 
course not ! ” she exclaimed, immediately afterwards, 
with an attempt to express conviction. 

“There is one thing — there is the old samovar,” 
continued the Cossack. “It has a leak in one side, 
and we make the tea as we can, when we have any. 
But I remember that I once pawned it, years ago, for 
five marks.” 

“That would make thirty,” said Vjera, promptly. 


182 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“I do not believe they would lend so much on it 
now, though it is good metal. It is a little battered, 
besides being leaky.” 

“Let us get it,” said Vjera, beginning to walk 
briskly on. “I have something, too, though I do not 
know what it is worth. It is an old skin of a wolf — 
my father killed it inside the village, just before we 
came away.” 

“ A wolf skin ! ” exclaimed Schmidt. “ That may 
be worth something, if it is good.” 

“ I am afraid it is not very good,” answered Vjera, 
doubtfully. “ The hair comes out. I think it must 
have been a mangy wolf. And there is a bad hole on 
one side.” 

“ It was probably badly cured,” said the Cossack, who 
understood furs. “ But I can mend the hole in five 
minutes, so that nobody will see it.” 

“We will get it, too. But I am afraid that it will 
not be, nearly enough to make up the twenty-five 
marks. They could not possibly give us twenty marks 
for the skin, could they ? ” 

“ No, indeed, unless you could sell it to some one who 
does not understand those things. And the samovar 
will not bring five, as I said. We must find something 
else.” 

“ Let us get the samovar first,” said Vjera, decisively. 
“I will wait downstairs till you get it, and then you 
will wait for me where I live, and after that we will go 
together. I may find something else. Indeed, I must, 
or we shall not have enough.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 183 

They walked rapidly through the deepening shadows 
towards Schmidt’s home. Vjera moved as people do 
who are possessed by an idea which must be put into 
immediate execution, her head high, her eyes full of 
light, her lips set, her step firm. Her companion was 
surprised to find that he needed to walk fast in order 
to keep by her side. He looked at her often, as he 
had looked all day, with an expression that showed at 
once much interest, considerable admiration and some 
pity. If he had not been lately brought to some new 
opinion concerning the girl he would certainly not have 
entered into her wild scheme for calming the Count’s 
excitement without at least arguing the case lengthily, 
and discussing all the difficulties which presented 
themselves to his imagination. As it was, he felt 
himself carried away by a sort of enthusiasm in her 
cause, which would have led him to make even greater 
sacrifices than he had it in his power to offer. So strong 
was this feeling that he felt called upon to make a sort 
of apology. 

“ I am sorry I cannot do more to help you,” he said 
regretfully. “ It is very little, I know, but then, you 
see I am not alone in the world, Vjera. There are 
others to be thought of. And besides, I have just paid 
the rent, and there are no savings left.” 

“Dear Herr Schmidt,” answered Vjera, gratefully, 
“you are doing too much already — but I cannot help 
taking all you give me, though I can thank you for it 
with all my heart.” 

They did not speak again during the next few 


184 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


minutes, until they reached the door of the house in 
which the Cossack lived. 

“ I shall only need a moment,” he said, as he dived 
into the dark entrance. 

He lost so little time, that it seemed to Vjera as 
though the echo of his steps had not died away upon 
the stairs before she heard his footfall again as he 
descended. This time, however, there was a rattle and 
clatter of metal to be heard as well as his quick tread 
and the loud creaking of his coarse, stiff shoes. He 
emerged into the street with the body of the samovar 
under one arm. The movable brass chimney of the 
machine was sticking out of one of his pockets, and 
in his left hand he had its little tra}^, with the rings 
and other pieces belonging to the whole. Amongst 
those latter objects, which he grasped tightly in his 
fingers, there figured also the fragment of a small 
spoon of which the bowl had been broken from the 
handle. 

“ It is silver,” he said, referring to the latter utensil, 
as he held up the whole handful before Vjera’s eyes. 
“ But if we can find a jeweller’s shop open, we will sell 
it. We can get more for it in that way. And now 
your wolf’s skin, Vjera. And be sure to bring me a 
needle and some strong thread when you come down. 
I can mend the hole by the gaslight in the street, for 
Homolka would not understand it if he saw me going 
to your room, you know.” 

She helped him to put all the smaller things into 
his pockets, so that he had only the samovar itself. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 185 

and its metal tray, to carry in his hands, and then they 
went briskly on towards Vjera’s lodging. 

“ Do you think we shall get three marks for the 
little spoon ? ” she asked, constantly preoccupied by 
her calculations. 

“ Oh, yes,” Schmidt answered cheerfully. “We may 
get five. It is good silver, and they buy silver by 
weight.” 

A few moments later she stood still before a narrow 
shop which was lighted within, though there was no 
lamp in the windows. It was that of a small watch- 
maker and jeweller, and a few silver watches and 
some cheap chains and trinkets were visible behind 
the glass pane. 

“Perhaps he may buy the spoon,” suggested Vjera, 
anxious to lose no time. 

Without a word Schmidt entered the shop, while the 
girl stood outside. In less than five minutes he came 
out again with something in his hand. 

“ Three and a half,” he said, handing her the money. 

“ I had hoped it would be worth more,” she answered, 
putting the coins with the rest. 

“ No. He weighed it with silver marks. It weighed 
just four of them, and he said he must have half a 
mark to make it worth his while.” 

“Very well,” said Vjera, “it is always something. 
I have twenty-eight and a half now.” 

When they reached her lodging Schmidt set down 
the samovar upon the pavement, and made himself a 
cigarette while he waited for her. She was gone a 


186 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


long time, as it seemed to him, and he was beginning 
to wonder whether anything had happened, when she 
suddenly made her appearance, noiseless in her walk, 
as always. The old wolf’s skin was hung over one 
shoulder, and she carried besides a limp-looking brown 
paper parcel, tied with a bit of folded ribband. As he 
caught sight of her face in the light of the street lamp, 
Schmidt fancied that she was paler than before, and 
that her cheek was wet. 

“ I am sorry I was so long,” she said. “ The little 
sister cried because I would not stay, and I had to 
quiet her. Here is the skin. Do you see? I am 
afraid this is a very big hole — and the hair comes out 
in handfuls. Look at it.” 

“It was a very old wolf,” remarked the Cossack, 
holding the skin up under the gaslight. 

“ Does that make it worth less ? ” asked Vjera, anx- 
iously. 

“ Not of itself ; on the contrary. And I can mend 
the hole, if you have the thread and needle. The 
worst thing about it all is the way the hairs fall out. 
I am afraid the moths have been at it, Vjera.” He 
shook his head gravely. “ I am afraid the moths have 
done a great deal of damage.” 

“ Oh, if I had only known — I would have been so 
careful ! And to think that it might have been worth 
something.” 

“It is worth something as it is, but at the pawn- 
broker’s they will not lend much on it.” He took the 
threaded needle, which she had not forgotten, and sit- 


A CIGARETTE-MAKER’S ROMANCE 187 

ting down upon the edge of the pavement spread the 
skin upon his knees with the fur downwards. Then 
he quickly began to draw the hole together, sewing it 
firmly with the furrier’s cross stitch, and so neatly that 
the seam looked like a single straight line on the side 
of the leather, while it was quite invisible in the fur on 
the other. 

“ What is the other thing you have brought ? ” he 
inquired without looking up from his work. The light 
was bad, and he had to bend his eyes close to the 
sewing. 

“ It is something I may be able to sell,” said Vjera, 
in a rather unsteady voice. 

“ Silver ? ” asked Schmidt, cheerfully. 

“Oh, no — not silver — something dearer,” she said, 
almost under her breath. “ I am afraid it is very hard 
for you to see,” she added quickly, attempting to avoid 
his questions. “ Do you not think that I could hold 
a match for you, to make a little more light ? You 
always have some with you.” 

“Wait a moment — yes — I have almost finished the 
seam — here is the box. Now, if you can hold the 
match just there, just over the needle, and keep it from 
going out, I can finish the end off neatly.” 

Vjera knelt down beside him and held the flickering 
bit of wood as well as she was able. They made a 
strange picture, out in the unfrequented street, the 
dim glare of the gaslight above them, and the redder 
flame of the match making odd tints and shadows in 
their faces. Vjera’s shawl had slipped back from her 


188 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


head and her thick tress of red-brown hair had found 
its way over her shoulder. An artist, strolling supper- 
wards from his studio, came down their side of the way. 
He stopped and looked at them. 

“ Has anything happened ? ” he asked kindly. “ Can 
I be of any use ? ” 

Vjera looked up with a frightened glance. The Cos- 
sack paid no attention to the stranger. 

“ Oh, no, thank you — thank you, sir, it is nothing — 
only a little piece of work to finish.” 

The artist gave one more look and passed on, wish- 
ing that he could have had pencil and paper and light 
at his command for five minutes. 

“ There,” said Schmidt, triumphantly. “ It is done, 
and very well done. And now for the pawn-shop, 
Vjera ! ” 

Vjera took the skin over her arm and her companion 
picked up the samovar with its tray, and they moved 
on again. Vjera's face was pale and sad, but she 
seemed more confident of success than ever, and her 
step was elastic and hopeful. Johann Schmidt’s curi- 
osity was very great, as has been seen on previous occa- 
sions. He did his best to control it, for some time, 
only trying to guess from the general appearance of 
the limp parcel what it might contain. But his inge- 
nuity failed to solve the problem. At last he could 
bear it no longer. They were entering the street 
where the pawnbroker’s shop was situated when his 
resolution broke down. 

“ Is it a piece of lace ? ” he asked at a venture. “ If 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 189 

it is, you know, and if it is good, it may be worth all 
the other things together.” 

“No. It is not a piece of lace,” answered the girl. 
“ I will tell you what it is, if we do not get enough 
without it.” 

“I only thought,” explained the Cossack, “that if 
we were going to try and pawn it, I had better 
know ” 

“We cannot pawn it,” said Vjera, decisively. “It 
will have to be sold. Let us go in together.” She 
spoke the last words as they reached the door of the 
pawn-shop. 

“ I could save you the trouble,” Schmidt suggested, 
offering to take the wolf’s skin. But Vjera would not 
give it up. She felt that she must see everything done 
herself, if only to distract her thoughts from more pain- 
ful matters. 

The place was half full of people, most of them 
with anxious faces, and all having some object or 
other in their hands. The pawn-shops do their best 
business in the evening. A man and a woman, both 
advanced in middle age, well fed, parsimoniously 
washed, and possessing profiles of an outline disquiet- 
ing to Christian prejudices, leaned over the counter, 
handled the articles offered them, consulted each other 
in incomprehensible monosyllables, talked volubly to 
the customers in oily undertones and from time to 
time counted out small doses of change which they 
gave to the eager recipients, accompanied by little 
slips of paper on which there were both printed and 


190 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


written words. The room was warm and redolent 
of poverty. A broad flame of gas burned, without a 
shade, over the middle of the counter. 

In spite of their unctuous tones the Hebrew and 
his wife did their business rapidly, with sharpness 
and decision. Either one of them would have under- 
taken to name the precise pawning value of anything 
on earth and, possibly, of most things in heaven, 
provided that the universe were brought piecemeal to 
their counter. Both Vjera and Schmidt had been 
made acquainted by previous necessities with the 
establishment. Vjera held her paper parcel in her 
hand. The other things were laid together upon the 
counter. The Hebrew woman glanced at the samovar, 
felt the weight of it and turned it once round. 

“ Leaky,” she observed in her smooth voice. “ Old 
brass. One mark and a half.” Her husband put out 
his hand, touched the machine, lifted it, and nodded. 

“ Only a mark and a half ! ” exclaimed Vjera. 
“ And the skin, how much for that ? ” 

“It is a genuine Russian wolf,” Schmidt put in. 
“And it is very large.” 

“Moth-eaten,” said the Jewess. “And there is a 
hole in the side. Five marks.” 

Schmidt held the fur up to the light and blew into 
it with a professional air, as furriers do. 

“ Look at that ! ” he cried, persuasively. “ Why, it 
is worth twenty ! ” 

The Hebrew lady, instead of answering, extended a 
fat thumb and a plump, pointed forefinger, and pinch- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 191 

ing a score of hairs between the two, pulled them out 
without effort, and then held them close to the Cos- 
sack’s eyes. 

“ Five marks,” she repeated, getting the money out 
and preparing to fill in a couple of pawn-tickets. 

“ Make it ten, with the samovar ! ” entreated Vjera. 
The Jewess smiled. 

“ Do you think the samovar is of gold ? ” she 
inquired. “Six and a half for the two. Take it or 
leave it.” 

Vjera looked at Schmidt anxiously as though to ask 
his opinion. 

“They will not give more,” he said, in Russian. 

The girl took the money and the flimsy tickets and 
they went out into the street. Vjera hesitated as to 
the direction she should take, and Schmidt looked to 
her as though awaiting her orders. 

“Twenty-eight and a half and six and a half are 
thirty-five,” she said thoughtfully. “ And we have noth- 
ing more to give, but this. I must sell it, Herr Schmidt.” 

“Well, what is it?” he asked, glad to know the 
secret at last. 

“ It is my mother’s hair. She cut it off herself 
when she knew she was dying and she told me to sell 
it if ever I needed a little money.” 

The girl’s voice trembled violently, and she turned 
her head away. Schmidt was silent and very grave. 
Then Vjera began to move on again, clutching the 
precious thing to her bosom and drawing her shawl 
over it. 


192 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“The best man for this lives in the Maffei Strasse,’* 
said Schmidt, after a few minutes. 

“Show me the way.” Vjera turned as he directed. 
At that moment she would have lost herself in the 
familiar streets, had he not been there to guide her. 

The hairdresser’s shop was brilliantly lighted, and 
as good fortune would have it, there were no customers 
within. With an entreating glance which he obeyed, 
Vjera made Schmidt wait outside. 

“ Please do not look ! ” she whispered. “ I can bear 
it better alone.” The good fellow nodded and began 
to walk up and down. 

As Vjera entered the shop, the chief barber in com- 
mand waltzed forward, as hairdressers always seem 
to waltz. At the sight of the poor girl, however, he 
assumed a stern appearance which, to tell the truth, 
was out of character with his style of beauty. His 
rich brown locks were curled and anointed in a way 
that might have aroused envy in the heart of an 
Assyrian dandy in the palmy days of Sardanapalus. 

“Do you buy hair? ’’asked Vjera, timidly offering 
her limp parcel. 

“Oh, certainly, sometimes,” answered the barber. 
The youth in attendance — the barber tadpole of the 
hairdresser frog — abandoned the cleansing of a comb 
and came forward with a leer, in the hope that Vjera 
might turn out to be pretty on a closer inspection. 
In this he was disappointed. 

The man took the parcel and laid it on one of the 
narrow marble tables placed before a mirror in a richly 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


193 


gilt frame. He pushed aside the blue glass powder- 
box, the vial of brilliantine and the brushes. Vjera 
untied the bit of faded ribband herself and opened the 
package. The contents exhaled a faint, sickly odour. 

A tress of beautiful hair, of unusual length and 
thickness, lay in the paper. The colour was that which 
is now so much sought after, and which great ladies 
endeavor to produce upon their own hair, when they 
have any, by washing it with extra-dry champagne, 
while little ladies imitate them with a humble solution 
of soda. The colour in question is a reddish-brown 
with rich golden lights in it, and it is very rare in 
nature. 

The barber eyed the thick plait with a business-like 
expression. 

“ The colour is not so bad,” he remarked, as though 
suggesting that it might have been very much better. 

“ Surely, it is very beautiful hair ! ” said Vjera, her 
heart almost breaking at the sight of the tenderly 
treasured heirloom. 

Suddenly the man snuffed the odour, lifted the tress 
to his nose, and smelt it. Then he laid it down again 
and took the thicker end, which was tied tightly with a 
ribband, in his hands, pulling at the short lengths of 
hair which projected beyond the knot. They broke 
very easily, with an odd, soft snap. 

“ It is worth nothing at all,” said the barber, deci- 
sively. “It is a pity, for it is a very pretty colour.” 

Vjera started, and steadied herself against the back 
of the professional chair which stood by the table. 


194 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ Nothing ? ” she repeated, half stupid with the pain 
of her disappointment. “Nothing? not even fifteen 
marks ? ” 

“ Nothing. It is rotten, and could not be worked. 
The hairs break like glass.” 

Vjera pressed her left hand to her side as though some- 
thing hurt her. The tadpole youth grinned idiotically 
and the barber seemed anxious to end the interview. 

With a look of broken-hearted despair the girl turned 
to the table and began to do up her parcel again. Her 
shawl fell to the ground as she moved. Then the tad- 
pole nudged his employer and pointed at Vjera’s long, 
red-brown braid, and grinned again from ear to ear. 

“ Is it fifteen marks that you want? ” asked the man. 

“Fifteen — yes — I must have fifteen,” repeated 
Vjera in dull tones. 

“I will give it to you for your own hair,” said the 
barber, with a short laugh. 

“For my own?” cried Vjera, suddenly turning 
round. It had never occurred to her that her own tress 
could be worth anything. “ For my own ? ” she repeated 
as though not believing her ears. 

“ Yes — let me see,” said the man. “ Turn your head 
again, please. Let me see. Yes, yes, it is good hair of 
the kind, though it has not the gold lights in -it that the 
other had. But, to oblige you, I will give you fifteen 
for it.” 

“ But I must have the money now,” said Vjera, 
suspiciously. “You must give me the money now, to 
take with me. I cannot wait.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 195 

The barber smiled, and produced a gold piece and 
five silver ones. 

“You may hold the money in your hand,” he said, 
offering it to her, “ while you sit down and I do the 
work.” 

Vjera clutched the coins fiercely and placed herself 
in the big chair before the mirror. She could see in 
the glass that her eyes were on fire. The barber 
loosened a screw in the back of the seat and removed 
the block with the cushion, handing it to his assistant. 

“ The scissors, and a comb, Anton,” he said briskly, 
lifting at the same time the heavy tress and judging 
its weight. The reflection of the steel flashed in the 
mirror, as the artist quickly opened and shut the 
scissors, with that peculiar shuffling jingle which only 
barbers can produce. 

“ Wait a minute ! ” cried Vjera, with sudden anxiety, 
and turning her head as though to draw away her hair 
from his grasp. “One minute — please — fifteen and 
thirty-five are really fifty, are they not ? ” 

The tadpole began to count on his fingers, whisper- 
ing audibly. 

“ Yes,” answered the barber. “ Fifteen and thirty- 
five are fifty.” 

The tadpole desisted, having already got into mathe- 
matical difficulties in counting from one hand over to 
the other. 

“ Then cut it off quickly, please ! ” said poor Vjera, 
settling herself in the chair again, and giving her head 
to the shears. 


196 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


In the silence that followed, only the soft jingle of 
the scissors was heard. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed the hairdresser, holding up a 
hand-mirror behind her. “ I have been generous, you 
see. I have not cut it very short. See for yourself.” 

“Thank you,” said Vjera. “You are very kind.” 
She saw nothing, indeed, but she was satisfied, and 
rose quickly. 

She tied up the limp parcel with the same old piece 
of faded ribband, and a little colour suddenly came 
into her face as she pressed it to her bosom. All at 
once, she lost control of herself, and with a sharp sob 
the tears gushed out. She stooped a little and drew 
her shawl over her head to hide her face. The tears 
wet her hands and the brown paper, and fell down to 
the greasy marble floor of the shop. 

“ It will grow again very soon,” said the barber, not 
unkindly. He supposed, naturally enough, that she 
was weeping over her sacrifice. 

“ Oh, no ! It is not that ! ” she cried. “ I am so — 
so happy to have kept this ! ” Then, without another 
word, she slipped noiselessly out into the street, clasp- 
ing the precious relic to her breast. 


CHAPTER XI 


“ I HAVE got it — I have got it all ! ” cried Vjera, as 
she came up with Schmidt on the pavement. His 
quick eye caught sight of the parcel, only half hidden 
by her shawl. 

“ But you have brought the hair away with you,” he 
said, in some anxiety, and fearing a mistake or some 
new trouble. 

“Yes,” she answered. “That is the best of it.” 
Her tears had disappeared as suddenly as they had 
come, and she could now hardly restrain the nervous 
laughter that rose to her lips. 

“ But how is that ? ” asked Schmidt, stopping. 

“I gave them my own,” she laughed, hysterically. 
“I gave them my own — instead. Quick, quick — 
there is no time to lose. Is it an hour yet, since I 
left him ? ” She ran along, and Schmidt found it hard 
to keep beside her without running too. At last he 
broke into a sort of jog-trot. In five minutes they 
were at the door of the Cafe. 

The Count was sitting at a small table near the door, 
an empty coffee-cup before him, staring with a fixed 
look at the opposite wall. There were few people in 
the place, as the performances at the theatres had 
already begun. Vjera entered alone. 

“ I have brought you the money,” she said, joyfully, 
197 


198 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


as she stood beside him and laid a hand upon his arm 
to attract his attention, for he had not noticed her 
coming. 

“ The money ? ” he said, excitedly. “ The fifty 
marks? You have got it?” 

She sat down at the table, and began to count the 
gold and silver, producing it from her pocket in instal- 
ments of four or five coins, and making little heaps of 
them before him. 

“ It is all there — every penny of it,” she said, count- 
ing the piles again. 

The poor man’s eyes seemed starting from his head, 
as he leaned eagerly forward over the money. 

“ Is it real ? Is it true ? ” he asked in a low voice. 
“Oh, Vjera, do not laugh at me — is it really true, 
child ? ” 

“Really true — fifty marks.” Her pale face beamed 
with pleasure. “ And now you can go and pay Fische- 
lowitz at once,” she added. 

But he leaned back a moment in his chair, looking 
at her intently. Then his eyes grew moist, and, when 
he spoke, his voice quivered. 

“ May God forgive me for taking it of you,” he said. 
“You have saved me, Vjera — saved my honour, my 
life — all. God bless you, dear, God bless you ! I am 
very, very thankful.” 

He put the coins carefully together and wrapped 
them in his silk handkerchief, and rose from his seat. 
He had already paid for his cup of coffee. They went 
out together. The Cossack had disappeared. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 199 

“You have saved my life and my honour — my 
honour and my life,” repeated the Count, softly, and 
dwelling on the words in a dreamy way. 

“ I will wait outside,” said Vjera, as they reached the 
tobacconist’s shop, a few seconds later. 

The Count turned to her and laid both hands upon 
her shoulders, looking into her face. 

“You cannot understand what you have done for 
me,” he said earnestly. 

He stooped, for he was much taller than she, and 
closing his tired eyes for a moment, he pressed his lips 
upon her waxen forehead. Before he had seen the 
bright blush that glowed in her cheeks, he had entered 
the shop. 

Akulina was seated in one corner, apparently in a 
bad humour, for her dark face was flushed, and her 
small eyes looked up savagely at the Count. Her 
husband was leaning over the counter, smoking and 
making a series of impressions in violet ink upon the 
back of an old letter, with an india-rubber stamp in 
which the words “Celebrated Manufactory” held a 
prominent place. He nodded familiarly. 

“ Herr Fischelowitz,” said the Count, regaining sud- 
denly his dignity of manner and bearing, “ in the course 
of the conversation last evening, I said that I would 
to-day refund the fifty marks which you once lent to 
that atrocious young man who wore green glasses. I 
daresay you remember the circumstance ? ” 

“ I had quite forgotten it,” said Fischelowitz. 
“ Please do not allow it to trouble you, my dear Count. 


200 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


I never considered you responsible for it, and of course 
you cannot ” 

“ It is a shame ! ” Akulina broke in, angrily. “You 
ought to make him pay it out of what he earns, since 
he took the Gigerl ! ” 

“ Madam,” said the Count, addressing her with great 
civility, “ if it is agreeable to you, we will not discuss 
the matter. I only reminded Herr Fischelowitz of 
what took place because ” 

“ Because you have no money — of course ! ” inter- 
rupted Akulina. 

“ On the contrary, because I have brought the money 
and shall be obliged to you if you will count it.” 

Akulina’s jaw dropped, and Fischelowitz looked up 
in amazement. The Count produced his knotted hand- 
kerchief and laid it on the table. 

“ I only wish you to understand,” he said, speaking 
to Akulina, “ that when a gentleman gives his word he 
keeps it. Will you do me the favour to count the 
money ? ” 

“Of course, it is no business of ours to find out how 
he got it,” observed Akulina, rising and coming 
forward. 

“ None whatever, madam,” answered the Count, 
spreading out the coins which had been collected by 
loving hands from so many sources. “ The only 
question is, to ascertain whether there are fifty marks 
here or not.” 

Fischelowitz stood looking on. He had not yet 
recovered from his surprise, and was half afraid that 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 201 

there might be something wrong. But the practical 
Akulina lost no time in assuring herself that the sum 
was complete. As she realised this fact, her features 
relaxed into a pleasant smile. 

“Well, Count,” she said, “we are very much obliged 
to you for this. It is very honest of you, for of course, 
you were not exactly called upon ” 

“ I understood you to say that I was,” replied the 
Count, gravely. 

“ Oh, that was yesterday, and I am very sorry if I 
annoyed you. But let bygones be bygones ! I hope 
there is no ill-will between us ? ” 

“ Oh, none at all,” returned the other, indifferently. 
“I have the honour to wish you a very good evening.” 
Without waiting for more the Count bowed and left 
the shop. 

“ Akulina,” said Fischelowitz, thoughtfully, as the 
door closed, “ that man is a gentleman, say what you 
please.” 

“ A pretty gentleman,” laughed Akulina, putting 
the money into the till. “ A gentleman indeed — why, 
look at his coat ! ” 

“And you are a fool, Akulina,” added Fischelowitz, 
handling his india-rubber stamp. 

“ Thank you ; but for my foolery you would be fifty 
marks poorer to-night, Christian Gregorovitch. A 
gentleman, pah ! ” 

The Count had drawn Vjera’s willing arm through 
his, and they were walking slowly away together. 

“ I must be going home,” she said, reluctantly. “ The 


202 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


little sister will be crying for me. I cannot leave her 
any longer.” 

“Not till I have thanked you, dear,” he answered, 
pressing her arm to his side. “ But I will go with you 
to your door, and thank you all the way — though the 
way is far too short for all I have to say.” 

“ I have done nothing — it has really cost me noth- 
ing.” Vjera squeezed her limp parcel under her 
shawl, and felt that she was speaking the truth. 

“I cannot believe that, Vjera,” said the Count. 

“ You could not have found so much money so 
quickly, without making some great sacrifice. But 
I will give it back to you ” 

“ Oh, no — no,” she cried, earnestly. “ Make no prom- 
ises to me. Think what this promise has cost you. 
When you have the money, you may give it back if 
you choose — but it would make me so unhappy if you 
promised.” 

“Would it, child? And yet my friends are wait- 
ing for me, and they have money for me too. Then, 
I will only say that I will give it back to you as soon 
as possible. Is that right ? ” 

“Yes — and nothing more than that. And as for 
thanking me — what have I done that needs thanks ? 
Would you not have done as much for me if — if, for 
instance, I had been ill, and could not pay the rent of 
the room ? And then — think of the happiness I have 
had ! ” 

The words were spoken so simply and it was so 
clear that they were true, that the Count found it 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 203 

hard to answer. Not because he had nothing to ex- 
press, but because the words for the expression could 
not be found. Again he pressed her arm. 

“ Vjera,” he said, when they had walked some dis- 
tance farther, “ it is of no use to speak of this. There 
is that between you and me which makes speech con- 
temptible and words ridiculous. There is only one 
thing that 1 can do, Vjera dearest. I can love you, 
dear, with all my heart. Will you take my love for 
thanks — and my devotion for gratitude? Will you, 
dear? Will you remember w]W you promised and 
what I promised last night ? As soon as all is right, 
to-morrow, will you be my wife ? ” 

“ If it could ever be ! ” sighed the poor girl, recalled 
suddenly to the remembrance of his pitiful infirmity. 

“ It can be, it shall be, and it will be,” he answered 
in tones of conviction. They are waiting for me 
now, Vjera, in my little room — but they may wait, for 
I will not lose a moment of your dear company for 
them all. They are waiting for me with the money 
and the papers and the orders. I have waited long 
for them, they can afford to have a little patience now. 
And to-morrow, at this time, we shall be together, 
Vjera, in the train — I will have a special carriage for 
you and me, and then, a night and a day and another 
night and we shall be at home — for ever. How happy 
we shall be ! Will you not be happy with me, dar- 
ling ? Why do you sigh ? ” 

“ Did I sigh ? ” asked Vjera, trying to laugh a little. 
He hardly noticed the question, but began to talk 


204 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

again, as he had talked on the previous evening, de- 
scribing all that he meant to do, and all that they 
would do together. Vjera heard and tried not to 
listen. Her joy was all gone. The great, overwhelm- 
ing pleasure she had felt in dispelling his anxiety and 
in averting what had seemed a near and terrible catas- 
trophe, gave place to the old, heart-rending pity for 
him, as he rambled on in his delusion. She had hoped 
that, as it was late on Wednesday evening, the time 
of it was passed, and that, for another week, he would 
talk no more of his friends and his money and his 
return to fortune. But the fixed idea was there still, 
as dominant as ever. Her light tread grew weary and 
her head sank forward as she walked. For one short 
hour she had felt the glory of sacrificing all she had 
to give, to her love. Are there many who have felt 
as much, with as good reason, in a whole lifetime ? 
But the hour was gone, taking with it the reality and 
leaving in its place a memory, fair, brilliant, and 
dear as the tress of golden hair Vjera was carrying 
home in her parcel, but as useless perhaps and as 
valueless in the world of realities as that had proved 
to be. 

They reached her door and stopped in their walk. 
She looked up sadly into his eyes, as she held out her 
hand. He hesitated a moment, and then threw both 
his arms round her and drew her to his heart and 
kissed her passionately again and again. She tried to 
draw back. 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” she cried. “ It cannot be so to- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


205 


morrow — why should you kiss me to-day ? ” But he 
would not let her go. She loved him, though she 
knew he was mad, and she let her head fall upon his 
shoulder, and allowed herself to believe in love for a 
moment. 

Suddenly she felt that he was startled by something. 

“ Vjera ! ” he cried. “Have you cut off your beau- 
tiful hair? What have you done, child? How could 
you do it ? ” 

“It was so heavy,” she said, looking up with a bright 
smile. “It made my head ache — it is best so.” 

But he was not satisfied, for he guessed something of 
the truth, and the pain and horror that thrilled him 
told him that he had guessed rightly. 

“You have cut it off — and you have sold it — you 

have sold your hair for me ” he stammered in a 

broken voice. 

She hung her head a little. 

“ I always meant to cut it off. I did not care for it, 
you know. And besides,” she added, suddenly looking 
up again, “you will not love me less, will you? They 
said it would grow again — you will not love me less ? ” 

“Love you less? Ah, Vjera, that promise I may 
make at least — never — to the end of ends ! ” 

“ And yet,” she answered, “ if it should all be true — 
if it only should — you could not — oh, I should not be 
worthy of you — you could never marry me.” 

The Count drew back a step and held out his right 
hand, with a strangely earnest look in his weary eyes. 
She laid her fingers in his almost unconsciously. 


206 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


Then, as though he were in a holy place, he took off 
his hat, and stood bareheaded before her. 

‘‘If I forsake you, Vjera,” he said very solemnly, “if 
I forsake you ever, in riches or in poverty, in honour 
or in disrepute, may the God of heaven forsake me in 
the hour of my death.” 

He swore the great oath deliberately, in a strong, 
clear voice, and then was silent for a moment, his eyes 
turned upwards, his attitude unchanged. Then he 
raised the poor girl’s thin hand to his lips and kissed 
it three times, reverently, as devout persons kiss the 
relics of departed saints. 

“Good-night, Vjera,” he said, quietly. “We shall 
meet to-morrow.” 

Vjera was awed by his solemn earnestness, and 
strongly moved by his action. 

“ Good-night,” she answered, lovingly. “ Heaven 
bless you and keep you safe.” She looked for a last 
time into his face, as though trying to impress upon 
her mind the memories of that fateful evening, and then 
she withdrew into the house, shutting the street door 
behind her. 

The Count stood still for several minutes, uncon- 
sciously holding his hat in his hand. At last he cov- 
ered his head and walked slowly away in the direction 
of his home. By degrees his mind fell into its old 
groove and he hastened his steps. From time to time, 
he fancied that some one was following him at no great 
distance, but though he glanced quickly over his shoul- 
der he saw no one in the dimly lighted street. The 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 207 

door of the house in which he lived was open, and he 
ran up the stairs at a great pace, sure that by this time 
his friends must be waiting for him in his room. 
When he reached it, all was dark and quiet. The 
echo of his own footsteps seemed still to resound in 
the staircase as he closed his door and struck a match. 
He found his small lamp in a corner, lighted it with 
some difficulty, set it on the table and sat down. 
There, beside him, propped up against two books, was 
the piece of paper on which he had written the few 
words for his friends, in case they came while he was 
oat. He took it up, looked over it absently, and began 
to fold it upon itself again and again. 

“ Dear Vjera ! ” he exclaimed, in a low caressing 
tone, as he smoothed the folded strip between his 
fingers. 

He was thinking, and thinking connectedly, of all 
that had just taken place, and wondering how it was 
that he had been able to accept such a sacrifice from 
one so little able to sacrifice anything. It seemed as 
though it should have been impossible for him to let 
the poor little shell-maker take upon herself his burden, 
and free him of it and set him right again in his own 
eyes. 

“ 1 know that I love her now,” he said to himself. 

And he was right. There are secret humiliations to 
which no man would submit, as such, but from which 
love, when it is real, can take away the sting and the 
poison. The man of heart, who does not love but is 
loved in spite of himself, fears to accept a sacrifice, lest 


208 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 


in so doing he should seem to declare his readiness to 
do as he is done by, from like motives. But when love 
is on both sides there is no such drawing back from 
love’s responsibilities. The sacrifice is accepted not 
only with gratitude, but with joy, as a debt of which 
the repayment by sacrifice again constitutes in itself a 
happiness. And thus, perhaps, it is that they love best 
who love in sorrow and in want, in worldly poverty 
and in distress of soul, for they alone can know what 
joy it is to receive, and what yet infinitely greater joy 
lies in giving all when all is sorely needed. 

But as the Count dwelt on the circumstances he saw 
also what it was that Vjera had done, and he wondered 
how she could have found the strength to do it. He 
did not, indeed, say to himself that for his sake she had 
parted with her only beauty, for he had never con- 
sidered whether she were good-looking or not. The 
bond between them was of a different nature, and 
would not have been less strong had Vjera been abso- 
lutely ugly instead of being merely, what is called, 
plain. He would have loved her as well, had she been 
a cripple, or deformed, just as she loved him in spite of 
his madness. But he knew well enough how women, 
even the most wretched, value their hair when it is 
beautiful, what care they bestow upon it and what con- 
solation they derive from the rich, silken coil denied 
to fairer women than themselves. There is something 
in the thought of cutting off the heavy tress and sell- 
ing it which appeals to the pity of most people, and 
which, to women themselves, is full of horror. A man 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


209 


might have felt the same in those days when long locks 
were the distinctive outward sign of nobility in man, 
and perhaps the respect of that obsolete custom has left 
in the minds of most people a sort of unconscious tra- 
dition. However that may be, we all feel that in one 
direction, at least, a woman’s sacrifice can go no further 
than in giving her head to the shears. 

The longer the Count thought of this, the more his 
gratitude increased, and the more fully he realised at 
what great cost poor Vjera had saved him from what 
he considered the greatest conceivable dishonour, from 
the shame of breaking his word, no matter under what 
conditions it had been given. He could, of course, 
repay her the money, so soon as his friends arrived, but 
by no miracle whatever could he restore to her head the 
only beauty it had ever possessed. He had scarcely 
understood this at first, for he had been confused and 
shaken by the many emotions which had in succession 
played upon his nervous mind and body during the 
past twenty-four hours. But now he saw it all very 
clearly. He had taken only money, which he would be 
able to restore ; she had given a part of herself, irrevo- 
cably. 

So deeply absorbed was he in his thoughts that the 
clocks struck many successive quarters without rousing 
him from his reverie, or suggesting again to him the 
fixed idea by which his life was governed on that day 
of the week. But as midnight drew near, the prolonged 
striking of the bells at every quarter at last attracted 
his attention. He started suddenly and rose from his 


210 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


seat, trying to count the strokes, but he had not heard 
the first ones and was astray in his reckoning. It was 
very late, that was certain, and not many minutes 
could elapse before the door would open and his 
friends would enter. He hastily smoothed his hair, 
looked to the flame of his bright little lamp and made 
a trip of inspection round the room. Everything was 
in order. He was almost glad that they were to come 
at night, for the lamplight seemed to lend a more 
cheerful look to the room. The Turkey-red cotton 
counterpane on the bed looked particularly well, the 
Count thought. During the next fifteen minutes he 
walked about, rubbing his hands softly together. At 
the first stroke of the following quarter he stood still 
and listened intently. 

Four quarters struck, and then the big bell began to 
toll the hour. It must be eleven, he thought, as he 
counted the strokes. Eleven — twelve — he started, 
and turned very white, but listened still, for he knew 
that he should hear another clock striking in a few 
seconds. As the strokes followed each other, his heart 
beat like a fulling-hammer, giving a succession of quick 
blows, and pausing to repeat the rhythmic tattoo more 
loudly and painfully than before. Ten — eleven — 
twelve — there was no mistake. The day was over. 
It was midnight, and no one had come. The room 
swam with him. 

Then, as in a vision of horror, he saw himself standing 
there, as he had stood many times before, listening for 
the last stroke, and suddenly awaking from the dream 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


211 


to the crushing disappointment of the reality. For 
one brief and terrible moment his whole memory was 
restored to him and he knew that his madness was 
only madness, and nothing more, and that it seized 
him in the same way, week by week, through the 
months and the years, leaving him thus on the stroke 
of twelve each Wednesday night, a broken, miserable, 
self-deceived man. As in certain dreams we dream 
that we have dreamed the same things before, so with 
him an endless calendar of Wednesdays was unrolled 
before his inner sight, all alike, all ending in the same 
terror of conscious madness. 

He had dreamed it all, there was no one to come 
to him in his distress, no one would ever enter that 
lonely room to bring back to him the treasures of a 
glorious past, for there was no one to come. It had 
all been a dream from beginning to end and there was 
no reality in it. 

He staggered to his chair and sat down, pressing his 
lean hands to his aching temples and rocking himself 
to and fro, his breath hissing through his convulsively 
closed teeth. Still the fearful memory remained, and it 
grew into a prophetic vision of the future, reflecting what 
had been upon the distant scenery of what was yet to 
be. With that one deadly stroke of the great church 
bell, all was gone — fortune, friends, wealth, dignity. 
The majestic front of the palace of his hopes was but a 
flimsy, painted tissue. The fire that ran through his 
tortured brain consumed the gaudy, artificial thing in 
the flash and rush of a single flame, and left behind only 


212 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


the charred skeleton framework, which had supported 
the vast canvas. And then he saw it again and again 
looming suddenly out of the darkness, brightening into 
beauty and the semblance of strength, to be as suddenly 
destroyed once more. With each frantic beat of his 
heart the awful transformation was renewed. For 
dreams need not time to spin out their intolerable 
length. With each burning throb of his raging blood, 
every nerve in his body, every aching recess of his 
brain, was pierced and twisted, and pierced again with 
unceasing agony. 

Then a new horror was added to the rest. He saw 
before him the poor Polish girl, her only beauty shorn 
awa}^ for his sake, he saw all that he had promised in 
return, "and he knew that he had nothing to give her, 
nothing, absolutely, save the crazy love of a wretched 
madman. He could not even repay her the miserable 
money which had cost her so dear. Out of his dreams 
of fortune there was not so much as a handful of coin 
left to give the girl who had given all she had, who 
had sold her hair to save his honour. With frightful 
vividness the truth came over him. That honour of 
his, he had pledged it in the recklessness of his mad- 
ness. She had saved it out of love, and he had not 
even — but no — there was a new memory there — love 
he had for her, passionate, tender, true, a love that had 
not its place among the terrors of the past. But — 
was not this a new dream, anew delusion of his shaken 
brain? And if he loved her, was it not yet more 
terrible to have deceived the loved one, more mon- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


213 


strous, more infamous, more utterly damnable ? The 
figure of her rose before him, pitiful, thin, weak, with 
outstretched hands and trusting eyes — and he had 
taken of her all she had. Neither heart, nor body, nor 
brain could bear more. 

“ Vjera ! God ! Forgive me ! ” With the cry of a 
breaking heart the poor Count fell forward from his 
seat and lay in a heap, motionless upon the floor. 

Only his stiffening fingers, crooked and contorted, 
worked nervously for a few minutes, scratching at the 
rough boards. Then all was quite still in the little room. 

There was a noise outside, and some one opened 
the door. The Cossack stood upon the threshold, 
holding his hand up against the lamp, for he was 
dazzled as he entered from the outer darkness of the 
stairs. He looked about, and at first saw nothing, for 
the Count had fallen in the shadow of the table. Then, 
seeing where he lay, Johann Schmidt came forward 
and knelt down, and with some difficulty turned his 
friend upon his back. 

“ Dead — poor Count ? ” he exclaimed in a low voice, 
bending down over the ghastly face. 

The pale eyes were turned upward and inward, and 
the forehead was damp. Schmidt unbuttoned the 
threadbare coat from the breast. There was no waist- 
coat under it — nothing but a patched flannel shirt. 
A quantity of papers were folded neatly in a flat pack- 
age in the inner pocket. Schmidt put down his head 
and listened for the beatings of the heart. 

“ So it is over ! ” he said mournfully, as he straight- 


214 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


ened himself upon his knees. Then he took one of the 
extended hands in his, and pressed it, and looked into the 
poor man’s face, and felt the tears coming into his eyes. 

“You were a good man,” he said in sorrowful tones, 
“ and a brave man in your way, and a true gentleman 
— and — I suppose it was not your fault if you were 
mad. Heaven give you peace and rest ! ” 

He rose to his feet, debating what he should do. 

“ Poor Vjera ! ” he sighed. “ Poor Vjera — she will 
go next ! ” 

Once more he looked down, and his eye caught sight 
of the papers projecting from the inner pocket of the 
coat, which was still open and thrown back upon the 
floor. It has been noticed more than once that Johann 
Schmidt was a man subject to attacks of quite irresis- 
tible curiosity. He hesitated a moment, and then 
came to the conclusion that he was as much entitled 
as any one else to be the Count’s executor. 

“ It cannot harm him now,” he said, as he extracted 
the bundle from its place. 

One of the letters was quite fresh. The rest were 
evidently very old, being yellow with age and ragged 
at the edges. He turned over the former. It was 
addressed to Count Skariatine, at his lodging, and it 
bore the postmark of a town in Great- Russia, between 
Petersburg and Moscow. Schmidt took out the sheet, 
and his face suddenly grew very dark and angry. 
The handwriting was either in reality Akulina’s or it 
resembled it so closely as to have deceived a better 
expert than the Cossack. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


215 


The missive purported to be written by the wife of 
Count Skariatine’s steward, and it set forth in rather 
servile and illiterate language that the said Count 
Skariatine and his eldest son were both dead, having 
been seized on the same day with the smallpox, of 
which there had been an epidemic in the neighbour- 
hood, but which was supposed to have quite disappeared 
when they fell ill. A week later and within twenty- 
four hours of each other they had breathed their 
last. The Count Boris Michaelovitch was now the 
heir, and would do well to come home as soon as 
possible to look after his possessions, as the local 
authorities were likely to make a good thing out of it 
in his absence. 

The Cossack swore a terrific oath, and stamped 
furiously on the floor as he rose to his feet. It was 
evident to him that Akulina had out of spite con- 
cocted the letter, and had managed to have it posted 
by some friend in Russia. He was not satisfied with 
one expletive, nor with many. The words he used 
need not be translated for the reader of the English 
language. It is enough to say that they were the 
strongest in the Cossack vocabulary, that they were 
well selected, and applied with force and precision. 

Johann Schmidt was exceedingly wroth with the 
tobacconist’s wife, for it was clear that she had caused 
the Count’s untimely death by her abominable practical 
joke. He went and leaned out of the window, churn- 
ing and gnashing the fantastic expressions of his rage 
through his teeth. 


216 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


Suddenly there was a noise in the room, a distinct, 
loud noise, as of shuffling with hands and feet. “The 
Cossack’s nerves were proof against ghostly terrors, but 
as he turned round he felt that his hair was standing 
erect upon his head. 

The Count was on his feet and was looking at him. 


CHAPTER XII 


“ I THOUGHT you were dead ! ” gasped the Cossack, 
in dismay. 

There was no answer. The Count did not appear to 
hear Schmidt’s voice nor to see his figure. He acted 
like a man walking in his sleep, and it was by no means 
certain to the friend who watched him that his eyes 
were always open. As though nothing unusual had 
happened, the Count calmly undressed himself and got 
into bed. Three minutes later he was sound asleep and 
breathing regularly. 

For a long time Johann Schmidt stood transfixed 
with wonder in his place at the open window. At last 
it dawned upon him that his friend had not been really 
dead, but had fallen into some sort of fit in the course 
of his lonely meditations, from which he had been 
awakened by the Cossack’s terrific swearing. Why the 
latter had seemed to be invisible and inaudible to him, 
was a matter which Schmidt did not attempt to solve. 
It was clear that the Count was alive, and sleeping like 
other people. Schmidt hesitated some time as to what 
he should do. It was possible that his friend might 
wake again, and find himself desperately ill. He had 
been so evidently unlike himself, that Schmidt had 
feared he would become a raving maniac in the night, 
and had entered the house at his heels, seating himself 
upon the stairs just outside the door to wait for events, 
217 


218 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


with the odd fidelity and forethought characteristic of 
him. The Count’s cry had warned him that all was not 
right, and he had entered the room, as has been seen. 

He determined to wait some time longer, to see 
whether anything would happen. Meanwhile, he thrust 
Akulina’s letter into his pocket, reflecting that as it 
was a forgery it would be best that the Count should 
not have it, lest he should be again misled by the con- 
tents. He sat down and waited. 

Nothing happened. The clocks chimed the quarters 
up to one in the morning, a quarter-past, half-past — 
Schmidt was growing sleepy. The Count breathed 
regularly and lay in his bed without moving. Then, 
at last, the Cossack rose, looked at his friend once more, 
blew out the lamp, felt his way to the door and left the 
room. As he walked home through the quiet streets 
he swore that he would take vengeance upon Akulina, 
by producing the letter and reading it in her husband’s 
presence, and before the assembled establishment, before 
the Count made his appearance. It was indeed not 
probable that he would come at all, considering all that 
he had suffered, though Schmidt knew that he gener- 
ally came on Thursday morning, evidently weary and 
exhausted, but unconscious of the delusion which had 
possessed him during the previous day. Possibly, he 
was subject to a similar fit every Wednesday night, and 
had kept the fact a secret. Schmidt had always won- 
dered what happened to him at the moment when he 
suddenly forgot his imaginary fortune and returned to 
his everyday senses. 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 219 

The morning dawned at last, and it was Thursday. 
As there was no necessity for liberating the Count from 
arrest to-day, Akulina roused her husband with the 
lark, gave him his coffee promptly and sent him off to 
open the shop and catch the early customer. Before 
the shutters had been up more than a quarter of an 
hour, and while Fischelowitz was still sniffing the fresh 
morning air, Johann Schmidt appeared. His step was 
brisk, his brow was dark, and his boots creaked omi- 
nously. With a very brief salutation he passed into the 
back shop, slipped off his coat, and set to work with the 
determination of a man who feels that he must do some- 
thing active as a momentary relief to his feelings. 

Next came Vjera, paler than ever, with great black 
rings under her tired eyes, broken with the fatigues and 
anxieties of the previous day, but determined to double 
her work, if that were possible, in order to make up for 
the money she had borrowed of Schmidt and, through 
him, of Dumnoff. As she dropped her shawl, Fischelo- 
witz caught sight of the back of her head, and broke 
into a laugh. 

“ Why, Vjera ! ” he cried. “ What have you 
done? You have made yourself look perfectly ridicu- 
lous ! ” 

The poor girl turned scarlet, and busied herself at 
her table without answering. Her fingers trembled 
as she tried to handle her glass tube. The Cossack, 
whose anger had not been diluted by being left to boil 
all night, dropped his swivel knife and went up to 
Fischelowitz with a look in his face so extremely disa- 


220 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


greeable that the tobacconist 'drew back a little, not 
knowing what to expect. 

“ I will tell you something,” said Schmidt, savagely. 
“You will have to change your manners if you expect 
any of us to work for you.” 

“What do you mean ?” stammered Fischelowitz, in 
whom nature had omitted to implant the gift of physi- 
cal courage, except in such measure as saved him from 
the humiliation of being afraid of his wife. 

“I mean what I say,” answered the Cossack. “And 
if there is anything I hate, it is to repeat what I have 
said before hitting a man.” His fists were clenched 
already, and one of them looked as though it were on 
the point of making a very emphatic gesture. Fischelo- 
witz retired backwards into the front shop, while Vjera 
looked on from within, now pale again and badly 
frightened. 

“ Herr Schmidt ! Herr Schmidt ! Please, please be 
quiet ! It does not matter ! ” she cried. 

“ Then what does matter ? ” inquired the Cossack over 
his shoulders. “ If Vjera has cut off her hair,” he said, 
turning again to Fischelowitz, “she has had a good 
reason for it. It is none of your business, nor mine 
either.” 

So saying he was about to go back to his work 
again. 

“Upon my word!” exclaimed the tobacconist. 
“ Upon my word I I do not understand what has 
got into the fellow.” 

“You do not understand?” cried Schmidt, facing 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


221 


him again. “ I mean that if you laugh at Vjera I 
will break most of your bones.” 

At that moment Akulina’s stout figure appeared, 
entering from the street. The Cossack stood still, 
glaring at her, his face growing white and contracted 
with anger. He was becoming dangerous, as good- 
tempered men will, when roused, especially when they 
have been brought up among people who, as a tribe, 
would rather fight than eat, at any time of day, from 
pure love of the thing. Even Akulina, who was not 
timid, hesitated as she stood on the threshold. 

“What has happened?” she inquired, looking from 
Schmidt to her husband. 

The latter came to her side, if not for protection, as 
might be maliciously supposed, at least for company. 

“ I cannot understand at all,” said Fischelowitz, still 
edging away. 

“You understand well enough, I think, and as for 
you, Frau Fischelowitz, I have something to talk of 
with you too. But we will put it off until later,” he 
added, as though suddenly changing his mind. 

The Count himself had appeared in the doorway 
behind Akulina. Both she and her husband stood 
aside, looking at him curiously. 

“ Good-morning,” he said, gravely taking off his hat . 
and inclining his head a little. He acted as though 
quite unconscious of what had happened on the pre- 
vious day, and they watched him as he quietly went 
into the room beyond, into which the Cossack had 
retired on seeing him enter. 


222 A cigarette-maker’s romance 

He hung up his hat in its usual place, nodding to 
Schmidt, who was opposite to him. Then, as he turned, 
he met Vjera’s eyes. It was a supreme moment for 
her, poor child. Would he remember anything of 
what had passed on the previous day? Or had he for- 
gotten all, his debt, her saving of him and the sacrifice 
she had made? He looked at her so long and so steadily 
that she grew frightened. Then all at once he came 
close to her, and took her hand and kissed it as he had 
done when they had last parted, careless of Schmidt’s 
presence. 

“I have not forgotten, dear Vjera,” he whispered in 
her ear. 

Schmidt passed them quickly and again went out, 
whether from a sense of delicacy, or because he saw an 
opportunity of renewing the fight outside, is not cer- 
tain. He closed the door of communication behind 
him. 

Vjera looked up into the Count’s eyes and the blush 
that rarely came, the blush of true happiness, mounted 
to her face. 

“ I have not forgotten, dearest,” he said again. 
“ There is a veil over yesterday — I think I must have 
been ill — but I know what you did for me and — 
and ” he hesitated as though seeking an expression. 

For a few seconds again the poor girl felt the agony 
of suspense she knew so well. 

“ I do not know what right a man so poor as I has 
to say such a thing, Vjera,” he continued. “ But I love 
you, dear, and if you will take me, I will love you all 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


223 


my life, more and more. Will it be harder to be poor 
together than each for ourselves, alone ? ” 

Vjera let her head fall upon his shoulder, happy at 
last. What did his madness matter now, since the 
one memory she craved had survived its destroying 
influence? He had forgotten his glorious hopes, his 
imaginary wealth, his expected friends, but he had 
not forgotten her, nor his love for her. 

“ Thank God ! ” she sighed, and the happy tears fell 
from her eyes upon the breast of his threadbare coat. 

“ But we must not forget to work, dear,” she said, a 
few moments later. 

“ No,” he answered. “ We must not forget to work.” 

As she sat down to her table he pushed her chair 
back for her, and put into her hands her little glass 
tube, and then he went and took his own place oppo- 
site. For a long time they were left alone, but neither 
of them seemed to wonder at it, nor to hear the low, 
excited tones of many voices talking rapidly and often 
together in the shop outside. Whenever their eyes 
met, they both smiled, while their fingers did the 
accustomed mechanical work. 

When Schmidt entered the outer shop for the second 
time, he found the tobacconist and his wife conversing 
in low tones together, in evident fear of being over- 
heard. He came and stood before them, lowering his 
voice to the pitch of theirs, as he spoke. 

“ It is no fault of yours that the Count was not found 
dead in his bed this morning,” he began, fixing his fiery 
eyes on Akulina. 


224 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ What? What ? What is this ? ” asked Fischelovvitz 
excitedly. 

“ Only this,” said the Cossack, displaying the letter 
he had brought from the Count’s rooms. “ Nothing 
more. Your wife has succeeded very well. He is 
quite mad now. I found him last night, helpless, in 
a sort of fit, stiff and stark on the floor of his room. 
And this was in his pocket. Read it, Herr Fischelo- 
witz. Read it, by all means. I suppose your wife 
does not mind your reading the letters she writes.” 

Fischelowitz took the letter stupidly, turned it 
over, saw the address, and took out the folded sheet. 
Akulina’s face expressed a blank amazement almost 
comical in its vacuity. For once, she was taken off 
her guard. Her husband read the letter over twice 
and examined the handwriting curiously. 

“A joke is a joke, Akulina,” he said at last. “But 
you have carried this too far. What if the Count had 
died?” 

“ I would like to know what I am accused of,” said 
Akulina, “and what all this is about.” 

“ I suppose you know your own handwriting,” ob- 
served the Cossack, taking the letter from the tobac- 
conist’s hands and holding it before her eyes. “And 
if that is not enough to drive the poor man to the mad- 
house I do not know what is. Perhaps you have for- 
gotten all about it? Perhaps you are mad too? ” 

Akulina read the writing in her turn. Then she 
grew very angry. 

“ It is an abominable lie ! ” she exclaimed. “ I never 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 225 

had anything to do with it. I do not know whence 
this letter comes, and I do not care. I know nothing 
about it.” 

“ I suppose no one can prevent your saying so, at 
least,” retorted the Cossack. 

“It is very queer,” observed Fischelowitz, suddenly 
thrusting his hands into his pockets and beginning to 
whistle softly as he looked through the shop window. 

“ When I tell you that it is not my handwriting, you 
ought to be satisfied ” Akulina began. 

“ And yet none of us are,” interrupted the Cossack, 
with a laugh. “ Strange, is it not? ” 

Dumnoff now came in, and a moment later the insig- 
nificant girl, who began to giggle foolishly as soon as 
she saw that something was happening which she could 
not understand. 

“ None of us are satisfied,” continued Johann Schmidt, 
taking the letter from Akulina. “ Here, Dumnoff, here, 
Anna Nicolaevna, is this the Chosjaika’s handwriting 
or not? Let everybody see and judge.” 

“ It is outrageous ! ” exclaimed Akulina, trying to 
get possession of the letter again. 

“You see how she tries to get it,” laughed the 
Cossack, savagely. “ She would be glad to tear it to 
pieces — of course she would.” 

“ I wish you would all go about your business,” said 
Fischelowitz, with an approach to asperity. 

Akulina was furious, but she did not know what to 
do. Everybody began talking together. 

“Of course it is the Barina’s handwriting,” said 
Q 


226 


A cigaeette-maker’s romance 


Dumnoff confidently. He supposed it was always safe 
to follow Schmidt’s lead, when he followed any one. 

“ Of course it is,” chimed in the insignificant Anna. 

“You — you minx — you flatter-cat, you little ser- 
pent ! ” cried Akulina, speaking three languages - at 
once in her excitement. “ Go — get along — go to 
your work ” 

“No, no, stay!” exclaimed the Cossack, authorita- 
tively. “Do you know what this is?” he asked of 
all present again. “ Our good mistress, here, has for 
some reason or other been trying to make the Count 
worse by having sham letters posted to him from 
home ” 

“It is a lie I A base, abominable lie! Turn the 
man out, Christian Gregorovitch ! Turn him out, or 
send for the police.” 

“ Turn him out yourself,” answered the tobacconist, 
phlegmatically. 

“ Posted to him from home,” continued the Cossack, 
“ and telling him that his father and brother are dead, 
and that he has come into property and the like. 
What do you think of that?” 

“It is a shame,” growled Dumnoff, beginning to 
understand. 

The girl laughed foolishly. 

“I swear to you,” began Akulina, crimson with 
anger. “I swear to you by all ” 

“ Customers, customers ! ” exclaimed Fischelowitz, 
in a stage whisper. “ Quiet, I tell you ! ” He made 
a rush for the other side of the counter, and briskly 


A CIGARETTE-MAKER’S ROMANCE 227 

assumed his professional smile. The others fell back 
into the corners. 

Two gentlemen in black entered the shop. The one 
was a stout, angry-looking person of middle age, very 
dark, and very full about the lower part of the face, 
which was not concealed by the closely cut black 
beard. His companion was a diminutive little man, 
very thin and very spruce, not less than fifty years old. 
His face was entirely shaved and was deeply marked 
with lines and furrows. A pair of piercing grey eyes 
looked through big gold-rimmed spectacles. As he 
took off his hat, a few thin, sandy-coloured locks flut- 
tered a little and then settled themselves upon the 
smooth surface of his cranium, like autumn leaves fall- 
ing upon a marble statue in a garden. 

“ Herr Fischelowitz ? ” inquired the larger of the 
two customers, touching his hat but not removing it. 

“ At your service,” answered the tobacconist. “ Ciga- 
rettes ? ” he inquired. “ Strong ? Light ? Kir, Sam- 
son, Dubec ? ” 

“ I am the new Russian Consul,” said the stranger. 
“ This gentleman is just arrived from Petersburg and 
has business with you.” 

“ My name is Konstantin Grabofsky, and I am a law- 
yer,” observed the little man, very sharply. 

Fischelowitz bowed till his nose almost came into 
collision with the counter. The others in the shop 
held their peace and opened their eyes. 

“ And I am told that Count Boris Michaelovitch 
Skariatine is here,” continued the lawyer. 


228 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ Oh — the mad Count ! ” exclaimed Akulina with 
an angry laugh, and coming forward. “ Yes, we can 
tell you all about him.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Grabofsky, “ to hear you call him 
mad, since my business is with him, Barina, and not 
with you.” His tone was, if possible, more incisive 
than before. 

“ Of course, we know that he is not a Count at all,” 
said Akulina, somewhat annoyed by his sharpness. 

“ Do you ? Then you are singularly mistaken. I 
shall be obliged if you will inform Count Skariatine 
that Konstantin Grabofsky desires the honour of an 
interview with him.” 

“ Go and call him, Akulina,” said Fischelowitz, 
“since the gentleman wishes to see him.” 

“ Go yourself,” retorted his wife. 

“ Go together, and be quick about it ! ” said the 
Consul, who was tired of waiting. 

“ And please to say that I wait his convenience,” 
added the lawyer. 

Dumnoff moved to Schmidt’s side and whispered 
into his ear. 

“ Do you think they have come about the Gigerl ? ” 
he inquired anxiously. “ Do you think they will arrest 
us again ? ” 

“ Durak ! ” laughed the Cossack. “ How can two 
Russian gentlemen arrest you in Munich ? This is 
something connected with the Count’s friends. It is my 
belief that they have come at last. See — here he is.” 

The Count now entered from the back shop, calm 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


229 


and collected, as though not expecting anything ex- 
traordinary. The Russian Consul took off his hat and 
bowed with great politeness and the Count returned 
the salutation with equal civility. Fischelowitz and 
Akulina stood in the background anxiously watching 
events. 

The lawyer also bowed, and then, turning his face to 
the light, held his hand out. 

“You have not forgotten me. Count Skariatine?” 
he said, in a .tone of inquiry. 

The Count stared hard at him as he took the prof- 
fered hand. Gradually, his face underwent a change. 
His forehead contracted, his eyes closed a little, his 
eyebrows rose, and an expression of quiet disdain set- 
tled about the lines of his mouth. 

“ I know you very well,” he answered. “ You are 
Doctor Konstantin Grabofsky, my father’s lawyer. 
Do you come from him to renew the offer you made 
when we parted ? ” 

“I have no offer to make,” said the little man. 
“Will you do me the honour to indicate some place 
where we may be alone together for a moment?” 

“ I have no objection to that,” replied the Count. 
“We can go into the street.” 

They passed out together, leaving the establishment 
of Christian Fischelowitz in a condition of great aston- 
ishment. The tobacconist hastily produced his best 
cigarettes and entreated the Consul to try one, making 
signs to the other occupants of the shop to return to 
their occupations in the inner room. 


230 A CIGAKETTE-M Aker’s romance 

“ How long have you known Count Skariatine ? ” 
inquired the Consul, carelessly, when he was alone 
with Fischelowitz. 

“ Six or seven years,” answered the latter. 

“ I suppose you know his story ? Your wife was 
good enough to inform us of that fact, though Doctor 
Grabofsky has reason to doubt the value of her 
information.” 

“We only know that he calls himself a Count.” 
Fischelowitz held the authorities of his native country 
in holy awe, and was almost frightened out of his 
senses at being thus questioned by the Consul. 

“ He is quite at liberty to do so,” answered the lat- 
ter, with a laugh. “ The story is simple enough,” he 
continued, “ and there is no reason why you should 
not know it. The late Count Skariatine had two sons, 
of whom the present Count was the younger. Ten 
years ago, Avhen barely twenty, he quarrelled with his 
father and elder brother, and they parted in anger. I 
must say that he seems to have acted hastily, though 
the old gentleman’s views of life were eccentric, to say 
the least of it. For some reason or other, the elder 
brother never married. I have heard it said that he 
was crippled in childhood. Be that as it may, he was 
vindictive and spiteful by nature, and prevented the 
quarrel from being forgotten. The younger brother 
left the house with the clothes on his back, and steadily 
refused to accept the small allowance offered him, and 
which was his by right. And now the father and the 
eldest son are dead — they died suddenly of the small- 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


231 


pox — and Doctor Grabofsky has come to inform the 
Count that he is the heir. There you have the story 
in a nutshell.” 

“ Then it is all true, after all ! ” cried Fischelowitz. 
“We all thought ” 

“ Thinking, when one knows nothing, is a dangerous 
and useless pastime,” observed the Consul. “ I will take 
a box of these cigarettes with me. They are good.” 

“ Thank you most obediently, Milostivy Gosudar ! ” 
exclaimed Fischelowitz, bowing low. “ I trust that the 
Gospodin Consul will honour me with his patronage. 
I have a great variety of tobaccos, Kir, Basma, Samson, 
Dubec Imperial, Swary ” 

While Fischelowitz was recommending the produc- 
tions of his Celebrated Manufactory to the Consul, 
Grabofsky and the Count were walking together up 
and down the smooth pavement outside. 

“A great change has taken place in your family,” 
Grabofsky was saying. “ Had anything less extraordi- 
nary occurred, I should have written to you instead 
of coming in person. Your brother is dead. Count 
Skariatine.” 

“ Dead ! ” exclaimed the Count, who had no recollec- 
tion of the letter abstracted from his pocket by the 
Cossack. It had reached him after the weekly attack 
had begun, and the memory of it was gone with that 
of so many other occurrences. 

“Dead,” repeated the lawyer, sharply, as though he 
would have made a nail of the word to drive it into 
the coffin. 


232 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ And how many children has he left ? ” inquired 
the Count. 

“ He died unmarried.” 

“ So that I ” 

“You are the lawful heir.” 

“ Unless my father marries again.” The colour rose 
in the Count’s lean cheeks. 

“That is impossible.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“Because he is dead too.” 

“Then ” 

“You are Count Skariatine, and I have the honour 
to offer you my services at this important juncture.” 

The Count breathed hard. The shock, overtaking 
him when he was in his normal condition, was tre- 
mendous. The colour came and went rapidly in his 
features, and he caught his breath, leaning heavily 
upon the little lawyer, who watched his face with 
some anxiety. Akulina’s remark about the Count’s 
madness had made him more careful than he would 
otherwise have been in his manner of breaking the news. 

“I am not well,” said the Count in a low voice. 
“To-day is Wednesday — I am never well on Wednes- 
days.” 

“To-day is Thursday,” answered Grabofsky. 

“ Thursday ? Thursday ” the Count reeled, and 

would have fallen, but for the support of the nervous 
little man’s wiry arm. 

Then in the space of a second, took place that 
strange phenomenon of the intelligence which is as yet 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


233 


so imperfectly understood. It is called the “ Transfer ” 
in the jargon of the half-developed science which deals 
with suggestion and the like. Its effects are strange, 
sudden and complete, often observed, never understood, 
but chronicled in hundreds of cases and analysed in 
every seat of physiological learning in Europe. In the 
twinkling of an eye, a part or the whole of the intelli- 
gence, or of the sensations, is reversed in action, and 
this with a logical precision of which no description 
.can give any idea. It is universally considered as the 
first step in the direction of recovery. 

The action of the Count’s mind was “transferred,” 
therefore, since the word is consecrated by usage. 
Fortunately for him, the transfer coincided with a 
material change in his fortunes. Had this not been 
the case it would have had the effect of making him 
mad through the whole week, and sane only from 
Tuesday evening until the midnight of Wednesday. 
As it was, the result was of a contrary nature. Being 
now in reality restored to wealth and dignity, he was 
able to understand and appreciate the reality during 
six days, becoming again, in imagination, a cigarette- 
maker upon the seventh, a harmless delusion which 
already shows signs of disappearing, and from which 
the principal authorities confidently assert that he will 
soon be quite free. 

He passed but one moment in a state of semi-con- 
sciousness. Then he raised his head, and stood erect, 
and to the great surprise of Grabofsky, showed no 
further surprise at the news he had just received. 


234 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“ The fact is,” he said, quietly, “ I was expecting you 
yesterday. I had received a letter from the wife of 
the steward informing me of the death of my father 
and brother. I think your coming to-day must have 
disturbed me, as I have some difficulty in recalling 
the circumstances which attended our meeting here.” 

“A passing indisposition,” suggested Grabofsky. 

“ Nothing more. The weather is warm, sultry in 
fact.” 

“ Yes, it must have been that. And now, we had 
better communicate the state of things to Herr 
Fischelowitz, to whom I consider myself much in- 
debted.” 

“ Our Consul came with me,” said the lawyer. “ He 
is in the shop. Perhaps you did not notice him.” 

“No — I do not think I did. I am afraid he thought 
me very careless.” 

“Not at all, not at all.” Grabofsky began to think 
that there had been some truth in Akulina’s remarks 
after all, but he kept his opinion to himself, then and 
afterwards, a course which was justified by subsequent 
events. He and the Count turned towards the shop, 
and, entering, found Fischelowitz and the Consul 
conversing together. 

The Count bowed to the latter with much ceremony. 

“ I fear,” he said, “ that you must have thought me . 
careless just now. The suddenness of the news I 
have received has affected me. Pray accept my best 
thanks for your kindness in accompanying Doctor 
Grabofsky this morning.” 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 235 

“ Do not mention it, Count. I am only too glad to 
be of service.” 

“You are very kind. And now, Herr Fischelowitz,” 
he continued, turning to the tobacconist, “it is my 
pleasant duty to thank you also. I looked for these 
gentlemen yesterday. They have arrived to-day. 
The change which I expected would take place has 
come, and I am about to return to my home. The 
memories of poverty and exile can never be pleasant, 
but I do not think that I have any just reason to 
complain. Will it please you, Herr Fischelowitz, and 
you, gentlemen, to go into the next room with me? 
I wish to take my leave of those who have so long 
been my companions.” 

Fischelowitz opened the door of communication and 
held it back respectfully for the Count to pass. His 
ideas were exceedingly confused, but his instinct told 
him to make all atonement in his power for his wife’s 
outbursts of temper. The Count entered first, and the 
other three followed him, Grabofsky, the Consul and 
Fischelowitz. The little back shop was very full. 
To judge from the last accents of Akulina’s voice she 
had been repaying Johann Schmidt with compound 
interest, now that the right was on her side, for the 
manner in which he had attacked her. As the Count 
entered, however, all held their peace, and he began to 
speak in the midst of total silence. He stood by the 
little black table upon which his lean, stained fingers 
had manufactured so many hundreds of thousands of 
cigarettes. 


236 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


“Herr Fischelowitz,” he began, “I am here to say 
good-bye to you, to your good wife, and to my 
companions. During a number of years you have 
afforded me the opportunity of earning an honest 
living, and I have to thank you very heartily for the 
forbearance you have shown me. It is not your fault 
if your consideration for me has sometimes taken a 
passive rather than an active form. It was not your 
business to fight my battles. Give me your hand, 
Herr Fischelowitz. We part, as we have lived, good 
friends. I wish you all possible success.” 

The tobacconist bowed low as he respectfully shook 
hands. 

“ Too much honour,” he said. 

“Frau Fischelowitz,” continued the Count, “you 
have acted according to your lights and your beliefs. 
I bear you no ill-will. I only hope that if any other 
poor gentleman should ever take my place you will 
not make his position harder than it would naturally 
be, and I trust that all may be well with you.” 

“ I never meant it, Herr Graf,” said Akulina, awk- 
wardly, as she took his proffered hand. 

He turned to the Cossack. 

“ Good-bye, Johann Schmidt, good-bye. I shall 
see you again, before long. We have always helped 
each other, my friend. I have much to thank you 
for.” 

“ You have helped me, you mean,” said the Cossack, 
in a rather shaky voice. 

“No, no — each other, and we will continue to do 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 237 

so, I hope, in a different way. Good-bye, Dumnoff. 
You have a better heart than people think.” 

“Are you not going to take me to Russia, after 
all?” asked the mujik, almost humbly. 

“Did I say I would? Then you shall go. But 
not as coachman, Dumnoff. Not as coachman, I think. 
Good-bye, Anna Nicolaevna,” he said, turning to the 
insignificant girl, who was at last too much awed to 
giggle. 

Then he came to Vjera’s place. The girl was lean- 
ing forward, hiding her face in her hands, and resting 
her small, pointed elbows on the table. 

“Vjera, dear,” he said, bending down to her, “will 
you come with me now ? ” 

She looked up suddenly, and her face was very 
white and drawn, and wet with tears. 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” she said in a low voice. “ How can 
I ever be worthy of you, since it is really true ? ” 

But the Count put his arm round the poor little 
shell-maker’s waist, and made her stand beside him in 
the midst of them all. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said, in his calmly dignified 
manner, “let me present to you the Countess Skaria- 
tine. She will bear that name to-morrow. I owe 
you a confession before leaving you, in her honour 
and to my humiliation. I had contracted a debt of- 
honour, and I had nothing wherewith to pay it. 
There was but an hour left — an hour, and then 
my life and my honour would have been gone to- 
gether.” 


238 


A cigarette-maker’s romance 


Vjera looked up into his face with a pitiful entreaty, 
but he would go on. 

‘‘She saved me, gentlemen,” he continued. “She 
cut off her beautiful hair from her head, and sold it 
for me. But that is not the reason why she is to be 
my wife. There is a better reason than that. I love 
her, gentlemen, with all my heart and soul, and she 
has told me that she loves me.” 

He felt her weight upon him, and, looking down, 
he saw that she had fainted in his arms, with a look 
of joy upon her poor wan face which none there had 
ever seen in the face of man or woman. 

And so love conquered. 


the end 


KHALED: A TALE OF ARABIA 


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CHAPTER I 


K HALED stood in the third heaven, which is the 
heaven of precious stones, and of Asrael, the angel of 
Death. In the midst of the light shed by the fruit of 
the trees Asrael himself is sitting, and will sit until 
the day of the resurrection from the dead, writing in 
his book the names of those who are to be born, and 
blotting out the names of those who have lived their 
years and must die. Each of the trees has seventy 
thousand branches, each branch bears seventy thousand 
fruits, each fruit is composed of seventy thousand dia- 
monds, rubies, emeralds, carbuncles, jacinths, and other 
precious stones. The stature and proportions of Asrael 
are so great that his eyes are seventy thousand days’ 
journey apart, the one from the other. 

Khaled stood motionless during ten months and 
thirteen days, waiting until Asrael should rest from his 
writing and look towards him. Then came the holy 
night called A1 Kadr, the night of peace in which the 
Koran came down from heaven. Asrael paused, and 
raising his eyes from the scroll saw Khaled standing 
before him. 

Asrael knew Khaled, who was one of the genii con- 
verted to the faith on hearing Mohammed read the 
Koran by night in the valley A1 Nakhlah. He won- 


2 


KHALED 


dered, however, when he saw him standing in his pres- 
ence ; for the genii are not allowed to pass even the 
gate of the first heaven, in which the stars hang by 
chains of gold, each star being inhabited by an angel 
who guards the entrance against the approach of 
devils. 

Asrael looked at Khaled in displeasure, therefore, 
supposing that he had eluded the heavenly sentinels, 
and concealed an evil purpose. But Khaled inclined 
himself respectfully. 

“There is no Allah but Allah. Mohammed is the 
prophet of Allah,” he said, thus declaring himself to be 
of the Moslem genii, who are upright and are true 
believers. 

“ How earnest thou hither ? ” asked Asrael. 

“ By the will of Allah, who sent his angel with me 
to the gate,” Khaled answered. “ I am come hither 
that thou mayest write down my name in the book of 
life and death, that I may be a man on earth, and after 
an appointed time thou shalt blot it out again and I 
shall die.” 

Asrael gazed at him and knew that this was the will 
of Allah, for the angels are thus immediately made 
conscious of the divine commands. He took up his 
pen to write, but before he had traced the first letter 
he paused. 

“This is the night A1 Kadr,” he said. “If thou 
wilt, tell me therefore thy story, for I am now at lei- 
sure to hear it.” 

“Thou knowest that I am of the upright genii,” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


3 


Khaled answered, “and I am well disposed towards 
men. In the city of Riad, in Arabia, there rules a 
powerful king, the Sultan of the kingdom of Nejed, 
blessed in all things save that he has no son to inherit 
his vast dominions. One daughter only has been born 
to him in his old age, of such marvellous beauty that 
even the Black Eyed Virgins enclosed in the fruit of 
the tree Sedrat, who wait for the coming of the faithful, 
would seem but mortal women beside her. Her eyes 
are as the deep water in the wells of Zobeideh when 
it is night and the stars are reflected therein. Her 
hair is finer than silk, red with henna, and abundant as 
the foliage of the young cypress tree. Her face is as 
fair as the kernels of young almonds, and her mouth is 
sweeter than the mellow date and more fragrant than 
’Ood mingled with ambergris. She possesses moreover 
all the virtues which become women, for she is as mod- 
est as she is beautiful and as charitable as she is modest. 
From all parts of Arabia and Egypt, and from Syria 
and from Persia, and even from Samarkand, from Af- 
ghanistan and from India, princes and kings’ sons con- 
tinually come to ask her in marriage, for the fame of 
her beauty and of her virtues is as wide as the world. 
But her father, desiring only her happiness, leaves the 
choice of a husband to herself, and for a long time she 
refused all her suitors. For there is in the palace at 
Riad a certain secret chamber from which she can 
observe all those who come and hear their conversation 
and see the gifts which they bring with them. 

“ At last there came as a suitor an unbeliever, a 


4 


KHALED 


prince of an island by the shores of India, beautiful as 
the moon, whose speech was honey, and who surpassed 
all the suitors in riches and in the magnificence of the 
presents he brought. For he came bearing with him a 
hundred pounds’ weight of pure gold, and five hundred 
ounces of ambergris, and a great weight of musk and 
sloes and sandal wood, and rich garments without 
number, and many woven shawls of Kashmir, of which 
the least splendid was valued at a thousand sherifs of 
gold. An innumerable retinue accompanied him, and 
twenty elephants, and horses without number, besides 
camels. 

“ The Sultan’s daughter beheld this beautiful prince 
from her secret hiding-place, and all that he had 
brought with him. The Sultan received him with 
kindness and hospitality, but assured him that unless 
he would renounce idolatry and embrace the true faith 
he could not hope to succeed in his purpose. There- 
upon he was much cast down, and soon afterwards, 
having received magnificent gifts in his turn, he would 
have departed on his way, disappointed and heavy at 
heart. But Zehowah sent for her father, and entreated 
him to bid the young prince remain. ‘ For it is not 
impossible,’ she said, ‘that he may yet be converted 
to the true faith. And have I the right to refuse to 
sacrifice my freedom when the sacrifice may be the 
means of converting an idolater to the right way ? 
And if I marry him and go with him to his kingdom, 
shall we not make true believers of all his subjects, so 
that I shall deserve to be called the mother of the 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


5 


faithful, like Ayesha, beloved by the Prophet, upon 
whom be peace?’ The Sultan found it hard to oppose 
this argument, which was founded upon virtue and 
edified in righteousness. He therefore entreated the 
Indian prince to remain and to profess Islam, promising 
the hand of Zehowah when he should be converted. 

“ Then I heard the prince taking secret counsel with 
a certain old man who was with him, who shaved his 
face and wore white clothing and ate food which he 
prepared for himself alone. The prince told all, and 
then the old man counselled him in this way. ‘ Speak 
whatsoever words they require of thee,’ he said, ‘for 
words are but garments wherewith to make the naked- 
ness of truth modest and agreeable. And take the 
woman, and by and by, when we are returned to our 
own land, if she consent to worship thy gods, it is good ; 
and if not, it is yet good, for thou shalt possess her as 
thy wife, and her unbelief shall be of consequence only 
to her own soul, but thy soul shall not be retarded in 
its progress.’ And the young prince was pleased, and 
promised to do as his counsellor advised him. 

“ So I saw that he was false and that Zehowah’s 
righteousness would be but the means to her sorrow if 
she were allowed to persist. Therefore in the night, 
when all were asleep in the palace, I entered into the 
room where the prince was lying, and I took him in my 
arms and flew with him to the midst of the Red Desert, 
and there I slew him and buried him in the sand, for 
I saw that he was a liar and had determined to be a 
hypocrite. 


6 


KHALED 


“ But Allah immediately sent an angel to destroy me 
because I had put to death a man who was about to 
become a believer, thereby killing his soul also, since he 
had not yet made profession of the faith. But I stood up 
and defended myself, saying that I had slain a hypocrite 
who had planned in his heart to carry away the daughter 
of a Moslem. Then the angel asked the truth of the 
prince’s soul, which was sitting upon the red sand that 
covered the body. The soul answered, weeping, and 
said; ‘These are true words, and I am fuel for hell.’ 
‘ Have I then deserved death ? ’ I asked. ‘ I have 
killed an unbeliever.’ The angel answered that I had 
deserved life ; and he would have left me and returned 
to paradise, but I would not let him go, and I besought 
him to entreat Allah that I might be allowed to live 
the life of a mortal man upon earth. ‘ For,’ I said, 
‘ thou sayest that I deserve life. But even if thou 
destroy me not now I am only one of the genii, who 
shall all die at the first blast of the trumpet before the 
resurrection of the dead. Obtain for me therefore that 
I may have a soul and live a few years, and if I do 
good I shall then be with the faithful in paradise ; and 
if not, I shall be bound with red-hot chains and burn 
everlastingly like a sinful man.’ The angel promised 
to intercede for me and departed. So I sat down upon 
the mound of red sand beside the soul of the Indian 
prince, to wait for the angel’s coming again. 

“Then the soul reproached me angrily. ‘But for 
thee,’ it said, ‘I should have married Zehowah and 
returned to my own people, and although I purposed to 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


7 


be a hypocrite, yet in time Zehowah might have con- 
vinced me and I should have believed in my heart. 
For I now see that there is no Allah but Allah, and 
that Mohammed is the prophet of Allah. And I should 
perhaps have died full of years, a good Moslem, and 
should have entered paradise. Therefore I pray Allah 
that this may be remembered in thy condemnation.’ 
At these words I was very angry and reviled the soul, 
scofBng at it. ‘No doubt Allah will hear thy prayer,’ 
I answered, ‘ and will hear also at the same time thy 
lies. And as for Zehowah, thinkest thou that she 
would have loved thee, even if she had married thee ? 
I tell thee that her soul rejoices only in the light of the 
faith, and that although she might have married thee, 
she would have done so in the hope of turning thy 
people from the worship of false gods and not for love of 
thee. For she will never love any man.’ When I had 
said this the soul groaned aloud and then remained 
silent. 

“In a little while the angel came back, and I saw 
that his face was no longer clouded with anger. ‘ Hear 
the judgment of Allah,’ he said. ‘Inasmuch as thou 
tookest the law upon thyself, which belonged to Allah 
alone, thou deservest to die. But in so far as thou hast 
indeed slain a hypocrite and an unbeliever thou hast 
earned life. Allah is just, merciful and forgiving. It 
is not meet that in thy lot there should be nothing but 
reward or nothing but punishment. Therefore thou 
shalt not yet receive a soul. Go hence to the third 
heaven, and when the angel Asrael shall be at leisure 


8 


KHALED 


he will write thy name in the book of the living. Then 
thou shalt return hither and go into the city of Riad 
bearing gifts. And Zehowah will accept thee in mar- 
riage, though she love thee not, for Allah commands 
that it be so. But if in the course of time this virtuous 
woman be moved to love, and say to thee, “ Khaled, I 
love thee,” then at that moment thou shalt receive an 
immortal soul, and if thy deeds be good thy soul shall 
enter paradise with the believers, but if not, thou shalt 
burn. Thus saith Allah. Thus art thou rewarded, 
indeed, but wisely and temperately, since thou hast not 
obtained life directly, but only the hope of life.’ Then 
the angel departed again, leading the way. 

“ But the soul mocked me. ‘ Thou that sayest of 
Zehowah that she will never love any man, thou art 
fallen into thine own trap,’ it cried. ‘ For now, if she 
love thee not thou must perish. Truly, Allah heard 
my prayer.’ But I was filled with thankfulness and 
departed after the angel, leaving the soul sitting alone 
upon the red sand. 

“Thus have I told thee my history, O Asrael. And 
now I pray thee to write my name in the book of the 
living, that I may fulfil the command of Allah and go 
my way to the city of Riad.” 

Then Asrael again took up his pen to write in the 
book. 

“Now thou art become a living man, though thou 
hast as yet no soul,” he said. “And thou art subject 
to death by the sword and by sickness and by all those 
evils which spring up in the path of the living. And 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


9 


the day of thy death is already known to Allah, who 
knows all things. But he is merciful and will doubt- 
less grant thee a term of years in which to make thy 
trial. Nevertheless be swift in thy journey and speedy 
in all thou doest, for though mortal man may live for 
ever hereafter in glory, his years on earth are but as 
the breath which springs up in the desert towards 
evening and is gone before the stars appear.” 

Khaled made a salutation before Asrael and went 
out of the third heaven, and passed through the second 
which is of burnished steel, and through the first in 
which the stars hang by golden chains, where Adam 
waits for the day of the resurrection, and at the gate 
he found the angel who had led him, and who now 
lifted him in his arms and bore him back to the Red 
Desert ; for as he was now a mortal man he could no 
longer move through the air like the genii between the 
outer gate of heaven and the earth. Nor could he any 
longer see the soul of the Indian prince sitting upon 
the sand, though it was still there. But the angel was 
visible to him. So they stood together, and the angel 
spoke to him. 

“ Thou art now a mortal man,” he said, “ and subject 
to time as to death. To thee it seems but a moment 
since we went up together to the gate, and yet thou 
wast standing ten months and thirteen days before 
Asrael, and of the body of the man whom thou slow- 
est only the bones remain.” 

So saying the angel blew upon the red sand and 
Khaled saw the white bones of the prince in the place 


10 


KHALED 


where he had laid his body. So he was first made con- 
scious of time. 

“Nearly a year has passed, and though Allah be 
very merciful to thee, yet he will assuredly not suffer 
thee to live beyond the time of other men. Make 
haste therefore and depart upon thine errand. Yet 
because thou art come into the world a grown man, 
having neither father nor mother nor inheritance, I 
will give thee what is most necessary for thy journey.” 

Then the angel took a handful of leaves from a 
ghada bush close by and gave them to Khaled, and as 
he gave them they were changed into a rich garment, 
and into linen, and into a shawl with which to make 
a turban, and shoes of red leather. 

“ Clothe thyself with these,” said the angel. 

He broke a twig from the bush and placed it in 
Khaled’s hand. Immediately it became a sabre of 
Damascus steel, in a sheath of leather with a belt. 

“ Take this sword, which is of such fine temper that 
it will cleave through an iron headpiece and a shirt of 
mail. But remember that it is not a sword made by 
magic. Let thy magic reside in thy arm, wield it for 
the faith, and put thy trust in Allah.” 

Afterwards the angel took up a locust that was 
asleep on the sand waiting for the warmth of the 
morning sun. The angel held the locust up before 
Khaled, and then let it fall. But as it fell it became 
at once a beautiful bay mare with round black eyes 
wide apart and an arching tail which swept down to 
the sand like a river of silk. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


11 


“ Take this mare,” said the angel ; “ she is of the 
pure breed of Nejed and as swift as the wind, but 
mortal like thyself.” 

“ But how shall I ride her without saddle or bridle ? ” 
asked Khaled. 

“ That is true,” answered the angel. 

He laid leaves of the ghada upon the mare’s back 
and they became a saddle, and placed a twig in her 
mouth and it turned into a bit and bridle. 

Khaled thanked the angel and mounted. 

“ Farewell and prosper, and put thy trust in Allah, 
and forget not the day of judgment,” the angel said, 
and immediately returned to paradise. 

So Khaled was left alone in the Red Desert, a living 
man obliged to shift for himself, liable to suffer hunger 
and thirst or to be slain by robbers, with no worldly 
possessions but his sword, his bay mare, and the 
clothes on his back. He knew moreover that he was 
more than two hundred miles from the city of Riad, 
and he knew that he could not accomplish this journey 
in less than four days. For when he was one of the 
genii he had often watched men toiling through desert 
on foot, and on camels and on horses, and had laughed 
with his companions at the slow progress they made. 
But now it was no laughing matter, for he had forgot- 
ten to ask the angel for dates and water, or even for a 
few handfuls of barley meal. 

He turned the mare’s head westward of the Goat, in 
which is the polar star, for he remembered that when 
he had carried away the Indian prince he had flown 


12 


KHALED 


towards the south-east, and as he began to gallop over 
the dark sand he laughed to himself. 

“ What poor things are men and their horses,” he said. 
“To destroy me, this mare need only stumble and lame 
herself, and we shall both die of hunger and thirst in 
the desert.” 

This reflection made him at first urge the mare to 
her greatest speed, for he thought that the sooner he 
should be out of the desert and among the villages 
beyond, the present danger would be passed. But 
presently he bethought him that the mare would be 
more likely to stumble and hurt herself in the dark if 
she were galloping than if she were moving at a mod- 
erate pace. He therefore drew bridle and patted her 
neck and made her walk slowly and cautiously forward. 

But this did not please him either, after a time, for 
he remembered that if he rode too slowly he must die 
of hunger before reaching the end of his journey. 

“ Truly,” he said, “ one must learn what it is to be 
a man, in order to understand the uses of moderation. 
Gallop not lest thy horse fall and thou perish! Nor 
delay, walking slowly by the road, lest thou die of thirst 
and hunger ! Yet thou art not safe, for A1 Walid died 
from treading upon an arrow, and Oda ibn Kais perished 
by perpetual sneezing. Allah is just and merciful I I 
will let the mare go at her own pace, for the end of all 
things is known.” 

The mare, being left to herself, began to canter, and 
carried Khaled onward all night without changing her 
gait. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


13 


“Nevertheless,” thought Khaled, “if we are not soon 
out of the desert we shall suffer thirst during the day 
as well as hunger.” 

When there was enough daylight to distinguish a 
black thread from a white, Khaled 'looked before him 
and saw that there was nothing but red sand in hillocks 
and ridges, with ghada bushes here and there. But still 
the mare cantered on and did not seem tired. Soon 
the sun rose and it grew very hot, for the air was quite 
still and it was summer time. 

Khaled looked always before him and at last he saw 
a white patch in the distance and he knew that there 
must be water near it. For the water of the Red Desert 
whitens the sand. He therefore rode on cheerfully, for 
he was now thirsty, and the mare quickened her pace, 
for she also knew that she was near a drinking-place. 
But as they came close to the spot Khaled remembered 
that the preceding night had been A1 Kadr, which 
falls between the seventh and eighth latter days of the 
month Ramadhan, during which the true believers 
neither eat nor drink so long as there is light enough 
to distinguish a white thread from a black one. So, 
when they reached the well, he let his mare drink her 
fill, and he took off the saddle and bridle and let her 
loose, after which he sat down with his head in the 
shade of a ghada bush to rest himself. 

“ Allah is merciful,” he said ; “ the night will come, 
and then I will drink.” For he dared not ride farther, 
for fear of not finding water again. 

Then again he was disturbed, for he had nothing to 


14 


KHALED 


eat, and he thought that if he waited until night he 
would be hungry as well as thirsty. But presently he 
saw the mare trying to catch the locusts that flew about. 
She could only catch one or two, because it was now 
hot and they were able to fly quickly. 

“When the night comes,” he said, “the locusts will 
lie on the ground and cling to the bushes, being stiff 
with the cold, and then I will eat my fill, and drink 
also.” 

Soon afterwards he fell asleep, being weary, and 
when he awoke it was night again and the stars were 
shining overhead. Khaled rose hastily and drank at 
the well and made ablutions and prayed, prostrating 
himself towards the Kebla. He remembered that he 
had slept a long time, and that he had not performed 
his devotions for a day and a night, so that he repeated 
them five times, to atone for the omission. 

The mare was eating the locusts that now lay in 
great black patches on the sand unable to move and 
save themselves. Khaled threw his cloak over a great 
number of them and gathered them together. Then he 
kindled a fire of ghada by striking sparks from the 
blade of his sword, and when he had made a bed of 
coals he roasted the locusts after pulling off their legs, 
and ate his fill. While he was doing this he was much 
disturbed in mind. 

“ I have only just begun to live as a man,” he thought. 
“Did I not stand ten months and thirteen daj^s in the 
third heaven, unconscious of the passing of time ? Who 
shall tell me whether I have not slept another ten 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


15 


months or more under this bush, like the companions 
of A1 Rakim? ” 

So, when he had done eating and had drunk again 
from the well, and had made the mare drink, he saddled 
her quickly and mounted, and cantered on through the 
riight, guiding his course by the stars. On the follow- 
ing day he again found a well, but much later than 
before, and he suffered much from thirst as he watched 
his mare dip her black lips into the pool. Nevertheless 
he would not break his fast, for he was resolved to be a 
true believer in practice as well as in belief. So he 
fell asleep and awoke when it was night again, and ate 
and drank. In this way he journeyed several days 
until he began to see the hill country which borders 
the desert towards Riad, and he understood that he had 
been much farther away than he had imagined. But 
he reflected that Allah had doubtless intended to try 
his constancy by imposing upon him the journey 
through the desert during the days of fasting. But at 
last, he awoke one day just at sunset, instead of sleep- 
ing until the night. He had been travelling up the 
first slopes where the ground, though barren, is harder 
than in the desert, and had lain down in a hollow by 
an abundant spring. He rose now and made ablutions 
and prayed, as usual, towards Mecca ; that is to say, 
being where he was, he turned his face to the west as 
the sun was setting. When he had finished he stood 
some minutes watching the red light over the desert 
below him, and then he was suddenly aware that the 
new moon was hanging just above the diminishing fire 


16 


KHALED 


of the evening, and he knew that the fast of Ramadhan 
was over and that the feast of Bairani had begun. 
Thereat he was glad and determined to take an un- 
usual number of locusts for his evening meal. 

But when he looked about he saw that there were 
no locusts in the place, though there was grass, which 
his mare was eating. Then he looked everywhere near 
the well to see whether some traveller had not perhaps 
dropped a few dates or a little barley by accident, but 
there was nothing. 

“ Doubtless,” he said, “ Allah wishes to show me 
that greediness is a sin even on the day of feasting.” 

He drank as much of the water as he could in order 
to stay his hunger as well as assuage his thirst, and 
then he saddled the mare and rode up out of the hollow 
towards the hill country. Towards the middle of the 
night he came to a small village where all the people 
were celebrating the feast, having killed a young camel 
and several sheep. Seeing that he was a traveller they 
bade him be welcome, and he sat down among them 
and ate his fill of meat, praising Allah. And corn was 
given to his mare, so that the dumb animal also kept 
the feast. 

“Truly,” said the people, “thy mare is a daughter 
of A1 Borak, the heavenly steed called ‘ the Lightning,’ 
upon which the nocturnal journey was accomplished 
by the Prophet, upon whom be peace.” 

They said this not because they divined that the 
mare had been given to Khaled by an angel, but be- 
cause they saw by her beauty that she must be swift 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


17 


as the wind. For she had a large head, with bony 
cheeks, and a full forehead and round black eyes wide 
apart, with smooth black skin about them, and a pointed 
nose, and the under lip was like that of a camel, pro- 
jecting a little. And she was neither too long nor too 
short, having straight legs like steel, and small feet 
and round hoofs, neither overgrown in idleness nor 
overworn with much work. And her tail lay flat and 
long and smooth when she was standing still but arched 
like the plume of an ostrich when she moved. Her 
coat was bright bay, glossy and smooth and without any 
white markings. By all these signs, which belong to 
the purest blood, the people of the village knew that she 
was of the fleetest reared in Arabia. And Khaled was 
glad that the people admired her, since she was the chief 
of his few possessions, which indeed were not many. 

He did not know beforehand what he should do, nor 
what he should say when in the presence of the Sultan 
of Nejed, still less how he could venture to ask Zehowah 
in marriage, having no gifts to offer and not being him- 
self a prince. Before he had become a man it would 
have been easy for him to find treasures in the earth 
such as men had never seen, for, like all the genii, he 
had been acquainted with the most deeply hidden 
mines and with all places where men had hidden 
wealth in old times. But this knowledge does not 
belong to the intelligence becoming mortals, but rather 
to the faculty of seeing through solid substance which 
is exercised by the spirits of the air, and in his present 
state it was taken from him, together with all possibility 


18 


KHALED 


of communicating with his former companions. He 
had nothing but his mare and his sword and the gar- 
ments he wore, and though the mare was indeed a gift 
for a king he did not know whether he was meant to 
offer it to any one, seeing that it had been given him 
by an angel. 

Nevertheless he did not lose heart, for the celestial 
messenger had told him that by the will of Allah he 
should marry Zehowah, and Allah was certainly able to 
give him a king’s daughter in marriage without the aid 
of gifts, of gold, of musk, of ’Ood, of aloes or of pearls. 

He rose, therefore, when he had eaten enough and 
had rested himself and his mare, and after thanking 
the people of the village for their entertainment he 
rode on his way. He passed through a hill country, 
sometimes fertile and sometimes stony and deserted, 
but he found water by the way and such food as he 
needed ; and accomplished the remainder of the journey 
without hindrance. 

On the morning of the second day he came to a 
halting-place from which he could see the city of Riad, 
and he was astonished at the size and magnificence of 
the Sultan’s palace, which was visible above the walls of 
the fortification. Yet he was aware that he had seen all 
this before, as in a dream not altogether forgotten when 
a man wakes at dawn after a long and restless night. 

He gazed awhile, after he had made his ablutions, 
and then calling to his mare to come to him, he mounted 
and rode through the southern gate into the heart of 
the city. 


CHAPTER II 


When Khaled reached the palace he dismounted 
from his mare, and leading her by the bridle entered 
the gateway. Here he met many persons, guards, and 
slaves both black and white, and porters bearing pro- 
visions, and a few women, all hurrying hither and 
thither ; and many noticed him, but a few gazed curi- 
ously into his face, and two or three grooms followed 
him a little way, pointing out to each other the beauties 
of his mare. 

“ Truly,” they said, “ if we did not know the mares 
of the stud better than the faces of our mothers, we 
should swear by Allah that this beast had been stolen 
from the Sultan’s stables by a thief in the night, for 
she is of the best blood in Nejed.” 

• These being curious they saluted Khaled and asked 
him whence he came and whither he was going, seeing 
that it is not courteous to ask a stranger any other 
questions. 

“I come from the Red Desert,” Khaled answered, 
“and I am going into the palace as you see.” 

The grooms saw that there was a rebuke in the last 
part of his answer and hung back and presently went 
their way. 

“ Are such mares bred in the Red Desert ? ” they 
exclaimed. “ The stranger is doubtless the sheikh of 
19 


20 


KHALED 


some powerful tribe. But if this be true, where are 
the men that came with him ? And why is he dressed 
like a man of the city ? ” 

So they hastened out of the gateway to find the 
Bedouins who, they supposed, must have accompanied 
Khaled on his journey. 

But Khaled went forward and came to a great court 
in which were stone seats by the walls. Here a num- 
ber of people were waiting. So he sat down upon one 
of the seats and his mare laid her nose upon his shoulder 
as though inquiring what he would do. 

“ Allah knows,” Khaled said, as though answering 
her. So he waited patiently. 

At last a man came out into the courtyard who was 
richly dressed, and whom all the people saluted as he 
passed. But he came straight towards Khaled, who 
rose from his seat. 

“Whence come you, my friend?” he inquired, after 
they had exchanged the salutation. 

“From the Red Desert, and I desire permission to 
speak with the Sultan when it shall please his majesty 
to see me.” 

“And what do you desire of his majesty? I ask 
that I may inform him beforehand. So you will have 
a better reception.” 

“ Tell the Sultan,” said Khaled, “ that a man is here 
who has neither father nor mother nor any possessions 
beyond a swift mare, a keen sword and a strong hand, 
but who is come nevertheless to ask in marriage Ze- 
howah, the Sultan’s daughter.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


21 


The minister smiled and gazed at Khaled in silence 
for a moment, but when he had looked keenly at his 
face, he became grave. 

“ It may be,” he thought, “ that this is some great 
prince who comes thus simply as in a disguise, and it 
were best not to anger him.” 

“I will deliver your message,” he answered aloud, 
“ though it is a strange one. It is customary for those 
who come to ask for a maiden in marriage to bring 
gifts — and to receive others in return,” he added. 

“I neither bring gifts nor ask any,” said Khaled. 
“ Allah is great and will provide me with what I need.” 

“ I fear that he will not provide you with the Sultan’s 
daughter for a wife,” said the minister, as he went 
away, but Khaled did not hear the words, though he 
would have cared little if he had. 

Now it chanced that Zehowah was sitting in a bal- 
cony surrounded with lattice, over the courtyard, on 
that morning and she had seen Khaled enter, leading 
his mare by the bridle. But though she watched the 
stranger and his beast idly for some time she thought 
as little of the one as of the other, for her heart was 
not turned to love, and she knew nothing of horses. 
But her women thought differently and spoke loudly, 
praising the beauty of both. 

“ There is indeed a warrior able to fight in the front 
of our armies,” they said. “ Truly such a man must 
have been Khaled ibn Walad, the Sword of the Lord, 
in the days of the Prophet — upon whom peace.” 

By and by there was a cry that the Sultan was com- 


22 


KHALED 


ing into the room, and the women rose and retired. 
The Sultan sat down upon the carpet by his daughter, 
in the balcony. 

“ Do you see that stranger, holding a beautiful mare 
by the bridle ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, I see him,” answered Zehowah, indifferently. 

“ He is come to ask you in marriage.” 

“ Another ! ” she exclaimed with a careless laugh. 
“ If it is the will of Allah I will marry him. If not, he 
will go away like the rest.” 

“ This man is not like the rest, my daughter. He is 
either a madman or some powerful prince in disguise.” 

“ Or both, perhaps,” laughed Zehowah. She laughed 
often, for although she was not inclined to love, she 
was of a gentle and merry temper. 

“ His message was a strange one,” said the Sultan. 
“ He says that he neither brings gifts nor asks them, 
that he has neither father nor mother, nor any posses- 
sions excepting a swift mare, a keen sword and a strong 
hand.” 

“ I see the mare, the sword and the hand,” answered 
Zehowah. “But the hand is like any other hand — 
how can I tell whether it be strong ? The sword is in 
its sheath, and I cannot see its edge, and though the 
mare is pretty enough, I have seen many of your own 
I liked as well. The elephants of the Indian prince 
were more amusing, and the prince himself was more 
beautiful than this stranger with his black beard and 
his solemn face.” 

“ That is true,” said the Sultan, with a sigh. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


23 


“ Do you wish me to marry this man ? ” Zehowah 
asked. 

“ My daughter, I wish you to choose of your own free 
will. Nevertheless I trust that you will choose before 
long, that I may see my child’s children before I die.” 

For the Sultan was old and white-bearded, and was 
already somewhat bowed with advancing years and 
with burden of many cares and the fatigues of many 
wars. Yet his eye was bright and his heart fearless 
still, though his judgment was often weak and 
vacillating. 

“ Do you wish me to marry this man ? ” Zehowah 
asked again. “ He will be a strange husband, for he 
is a strange suitor, coming without gifts and having 
neither father nor mother. But I will do as you com- 
mand. If you leave it to me I shall never marry.” 

“ I did not say that I desired you to take this one 
especially,” protested the Sultan, “ though for the 
matter of gifts I care little, since heaven has sent me 
wealth in abundance. But my remaining years are 
few, and the years of life are like stones slipping from 
a mountain which move slowly at first, and then faster 
until they outrun the lightning and leap into the dark 
valley below. And what is required of a husband is 
that he be a true believer, young and whole in every 
part, and of a charitable disposition.” 

“ Truly,” laughed Zehowah, “ if he have no posses- 
sions, charity will avail him little, since he has nothing 
to give.” 

“ There is other charity besides the giving of alms, 


24 


KHALED 


my daughter, since it is charity even to think charitably 
of others, as you know. But I have not said that you 
should marry this man, for you are free. And indeed 
I have not yet talked with him. But I have sent for 
him and you shall hear him speak. See — they are 
just now conducting him to the hall of audiences. 
But indeed I think he is no husband for you, after all.” 

The Sultan rose and went to receive K haled, and 
Zehowah went to the secret window above her father’s 
raised seat in the hall. 

Khaled made the customary salutation with the great- 
est respect, and the Sultan made him sit down at his 
right hand as though he had been a prince, and asked 
him whence he had come. Then a refreshment was 
brought, and Khaled ate and drank a little, after 
which the Sultan inquired his business. 

“ I come,” said Khaled, boldly, “ to ask your daugh- 
ter Zehowah in marriage. I bring no gifts, for I have 
none to offer, nor have I any inheritance. My mare is 
my fortune, my sword is my argument and my wit is 
in my arm.” 

“You are a strange suitor,” said the Sultan ; but he 
kept a pleasant countenance, since Khaled was his 
guest. “You are no doubt the sheikh of a tribe of the 
Red Desert, though I was not aware that any tribes 
dwelt there.” 

“So far as being the sheikh of my tribe,” said 
Khaled, with a smile, “ your majesty may call me so, 
for my tribe consists of myself alone, seeing that I have 
neither father nor mother nor any relations.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


25 


“Truly, I have never talked with such a suitor 
before,” answered the Sultan. “ At least I presume 
that you are a son of some prince, and that you have 
chosen to disguise yourself as a rich traveller and to 
hide your history under an allegory.” 

The Sultan would certainly not have allowed him- 
self to overstep the bounds of courtesy so far, but for 
his astonishment at Khaled’s daring manner. He was 
too keen, however, not to see that this man was some- 
thing above the ordinary and that, whatever else he 
might be, he was not a common impostor. Such a 
fellow would have found means to rob a caravan of 
valuable goods, to oh’er as gifts, would have brought 
himself a train of camels and slaves, and would have 
given himself out as a prince of some distant country 
from which it would not be possible to obtain in- 
formation. 

“ Istaghfir Allah ! I am no prince,” Khaled an- 
swered. “ I ask for the hand of your daughter. The 
will of Allah will be accomplished.” 

He knew that Zehowah was watching and listening 
behind the lattice in her place of concealment, for the 
memory of such things had not been taken from him 
when he had lost the supernatural vision of the genii 
and had become an ordinary man. He was determined 
therefore to be truthful and to say nothing which he 
might afterwards be called upon to explain. For he 
never doubted but that Zehowah would be his wife, 
since the angel had told him that it should be so. 

“And what if I refuse even to consider your pro- 


26 


KHALED 


posal ? ” inquired the Sultan, to see what he would 
say. 

“ If it is the will of Allah that I marry your daughter, 
your refusal would be useless, but if it is not his will, 
your refusal would be altogether unnecessary.” 

The Sultan was much struck by this argument, which 
showed a ready wit in the stranger, and which he could 
only have opposed by asserting that his own will was 
superior to that of heaven itself. 

“ But,” said he, defending himself, “ any of the 
previous suitors might have said the same.” 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Khaled, unabashed. “But 
they did not say it. Your majesty will certainly now 
consider the matter.” 

“ In the meanwhile,” the Sultan answered, very 
graciously, “ you are my guest, and you have come in 
time to take part in the third day of the feast, to which 
you are welcome in the name of Allah, the merciful.” 

Thereupon the Sultan rose and Khaled w^as conducted 
to the apartments set apart for the guests. But the 
Sultan returned to the harem in a very thoughtful mood, 
and before long he found Zehowah, who had returned to 
her seat in the balcony. 

“ This is a very strange suitor,” he said, shaking his 
head and looking into his daughter’s face. 

“ He is at least bold and outspoken,’^ she answered. 
“ He makes no secret of his poverty nor of his wishes. 
Whatever he be, he is in earnest and speaks truth. I 
would like well to know the only secret which he wishes 
to keep — who he really is.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


2T 


“It may be,” said the Sultan, thoughtfully, “that if 
I threaten to cut off his head he will tell us. But on 
the other hand, he is a guest.” 

“ He is not of those who are easily terrified, I think. 
Tell me, my father, do you wish me to marry him ? ” 

“How could you marry a man who has no family 
and no inheritance? Would such a marriage befit the 
daughter of kings?” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Zehowah, with much calmness. 

The Sultan stared at her in astonishment. 

“Has this stranger enchanted your imagination?” 
he inquired by way of answer. 

“No,” replied Zehowah, scornfully. “I have seen 
the noblest, the most beautiful and the richest of the 
earth, ready to take me to wife, and I have not loved. 
Shall I love an outcast ? ” 

“ Then how can you ask my wishes ? ” 

“ Because there are good reasons why I should marry 
this man.” 

“ Good reasons ? In the name of Allah let me hear 
them, if there are any.” 

“You are old, my father,” said Zehowah, “and it has 
not pleased heaven to send you a son, nor to leave you 
any living relation to sit upon the throne when your 
years are accomplished. You must needs think of your 
successor.” 

“ The better reason for choosing some powerful prince, 
whose territory shall increase the kingdom he inherits 
from me, and whose alliance shall strengthen the empire 
I leave behind me.” 


28 


KHALED 


“Istaghfir Allah! The worse reason. For such a 
prince would be attached to his own country, and 
would take me thither with him and would neglect 
the kingdom of. Nejed, regarding it as a land of 
strangers whom he may oppress with taxes to increase 
his own splendour. And this is not unreasonable, since 
no king can wisely govern two kingdoms separated from 
each other by more than three days’ journey. No man 
can have other than the one of two reasons for asking 
me in marriage. Either he has heard of me and desires 
to possess me, or he wishes to increase his dominions by 
the inheritance which will be mine.” 

“ Doubtless, this is the truth,” said the Sultan. 
“ But so much the more does this stranger in all 
probability covet my kingdom, since he has nothing 
of his own.” 

“This is what I mean. For, having no other posses- 
sions to distract his attention, he will remain always 
here, and will govern your kingdom for its own 
advantage in order that it may profit himself.” 

“This is a subtle argument, my daughter, and one 
requiring consideration.” 

“ The more so because the man seems otherwise well 
fitted to be my husband, since he is a true believer, and 
young, and fearless and outspoken.” 

“ But if this is all,” objected the Sultan, “ there are 
in Nejed several young men, sons of my chief courtiers, 
who possess the same qualifications. Choose one of 
them.” 

“ On the contrary, to choose one of them would arouse 


A TALE OF AKABIA 


29 


the jealousy of all the rest, with their families and 
slaves and freedmen, whereby the kingdom would easily 
be exposed to civil war. But if I take a stranger it is 
more probable that all will be for him, since you are 
beloved, and there is no reason why one party should 
oppose him and another support him, since none of 
them know anything of him.” 

“ But he will not be beloved by the people unless 
he is liberal, and he has nothing wherewith to be 
generous.” 

“ And where are the treasures of Riad ? ” laughed 
Zehowah. “ Is it not easy for you to go secretly to his 
chamber and to give him as much gold as he needs ? ” 

“ That is also true. I see that you have set your 
heart upon him.” 

“Not my heart, my father, but my head. For I have 
infinitely more head than heart, and I see that the 
welfare of the kingdom will be better secured with such 
a ruler, than it would have been under a foreign prince 
whose right hand would be perpetually thrust out to 
take in Nejed that which his left hand would throw to 
courtiers in his own country. Do I speak wisdom or 
folly?” 

“It is neither all folly nor all wisdom.” 

“ I have seen this man, I have heard him speak,” said 
Zehowah. “ He is as well as another, since I must 
marry sooner or later. Moreover, I have another 
argument.” 

“What is that ?” 

“ Either he is a man strong enough to rule me, or he 


30 


KHALED 


is not,” Zehowah answered with a laugh. “If he can 
govern me, he can govern the kingdom of Nejed. But 
if not, I will govern it for him, and rule him also.” 

The Sultan looked up to heaven and slightly raised 
his hands from his knees. 

“ Allah is merciful and forgiving ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ Is this the spirit befitting a wife ? ” 

“ Is it charity to cause happiness ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly it is charity.” 

“ And which is greater, the happiness of many or the 
happiness of one ? ” 

“The happiness of many is greater,” answered the 
Sultan. “ What then ? ” he asked after a time, seeing 
that she said nothing more. 

“I have spoken,” she replied. “It is best that I 
should marry him.” 

Then there was silence for a long time, during which 
the Sultan sat quite motionless in his place, watching 
his daughter, while she looked idly through the lattice 
at the people who came and went in the court below. 
She seemed to feel no emotion. 

The Sultan did not know how to oppose Zehowah’s 
will any more than he could answer her arguments, 
although his worldly wisdom was altogether at variance 
with her decision. For she was the beloved child of 
his old age and he could refuse her nothing. More- 
over, in what she had said, there was much which 
recommended itself to his judgment, though by no 
means enough to persuade him. At last he rose from 
the carpet and embraced her. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


31 


“ If it is your will, let it be so,” he said. 

“ It is the will of Allah,” answered Zehowah. “ Let 
it be accomplished immediately.” 

With a sigh the Sultan withdrew and sent a messen- 
ger to Khaled requesting him to come to another and 
more secluded chamber, where they could be alone and 
talk freely. 

Khaled showed no surprise on hearing that his suit 
was accepted, but he thought it fitting to express much 
gratitude for the favourable decision. Then the Sultan, 
who did not wish to seem too readily yielding, began to 
explain to Khaled Zehowah’s reasons for accepting a 
poor stranger, presenting them as though they were his 
own. 

“For,” he said, “whatever you may in reality be, you 
have chosen to present yourself to us in such a manner 
as would not have failed to bring about a refusal under 
any other circumstances. But I have considered that 
as it will be your destiny, if heaven grants you life, to 
rule my kingdom after me, you will in all likelihood 
rule it more wisely and carefully, for having no other 
cares in a distant country to distract your attention ; 
and because you have no relations you are the less 
liable to the attacks of open or secret jealousy.” 

The Sultan then gave him a large sum of money in 
gold pieces, which Khaled gladly accepted, since he had 
not even wherewithal to buy himself a garment for the 
wedding feast, still less to distribute gifts to the court- 
iers and to the multitude. The Sultan also presented 
him with a black slave to attend to his personal wants. 


32 


KHALED 


Khaled then sent for merchants from the bazaar, 
and they brought him all manner of rich stuffs, such as 
he needed. There came also two tailors, who sat down 
upon a matting in his apartment and immediately 
began to make him clothes, while the black slave sat 
beside them and watched them, lest they should steal 
any of the gold of the embroideries. 

When it was known in the palace that the Sultan’s 
only daughter was to be married at once, there were 
great rejoicings, and many camels were slaughtered and 
a great number of sheep, to supply food for so great a 
feast. A number of cooks were hired also to help those 
who belonged to the palace, for although the Sultan fed 
daily more than three hundred persons, guests, travellers 
and poor, besides all the members of the household, yet 
this was as nothing compared with the multitude to be 
provided for on the present occasion. 

Then it was that Hadji Mohammed, the chief of the 
cooks, sat down upon the floor in the midst of the main 
kitchen and beat his breast and wept. For the con- 
fusion was great so that the voice of one man could not 
be heard for the diabolical screaming of the many, and 
the cooks smote the young lads who helped them, and 
these, running to escape from the blows, fell against 
the porters who came in from outside bearing sacks of 
sugar, and great baskets of fruit and quarters of meat 
and skins of water, and bushels of meal and a hundred 
other things equally necessary to the cooking ; and the 
porters, staggering under their burdens, fell between 
the legs of the mules loaded with firewood, that had 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


33 


been brought to the gate, and the dumb beasts kicked 
violently in all directions, while the slaves who drove 
them struck them with their staves, and the mules be- 
gan to run among the camels, and the camels, being 
terrified, rose from the ground and began to plunge 
and skip like young foals, while more porters and more 
mules and more slaves came on in multitudes to the 
door of the kitchen. And it was very hot, for it was 
noontide, and in summer, and there were flies without 
number, and the dogs that had been sleeping in the 
shade sprang up and barked loudly and bit whomso- 
ever they could reach, and all the men bellowed to- 
gether, so that the confusion was extreme. 

“Verily,” cried Hadji Mohammed, “this is not a 
kitchen, but Yemamah, and I am not the chief of the 
cooks, but the chief of sinners and fuel for hell.” So 
he wept bitterly and beat his breast. 

But at last matters mended, for there were many 
who were willing to do well, so that when the time 
came Hadji Mohammed was able to serve an honour- 
able feast to all, though the number of the guests was 
not less than two thousand. 

But Khaled, having visited the bath, arrayed him- 
self magnificently and rode upon his bay mare to the 
mosque, surrounded by the courtiers and the chief offi- 
cers of the state, and by a great throng of slaves from 
the palace. As he rode, he scattered gold pieces among 
the people from the bags which he carried, and all 
praised his liberality and swore by Allah that Zehowah 
was taking a very goodly husband. And as none knew 


34 


KHALED 


whence he came, all were equally pleased, but most of all 
the Bedouins from the desert, of whom there were many 
at that time in Riad, who had come to keep the feast 
Bairam, for Khaled’s own words had been repeated, 
and they had heard that he came from the desert like 
themselves. And when he had finished his prayers, he 
rode back to the palace. 

When the time for the feast came the Sultan led 
Khaled into the great hall and made him sit at his right 
hand. The Sultan himself was magnificently dressed 
and covered with priceless jewels, so that he shone like 
the sun among all the rest. Then he presented Khaled 
to the assembly. 

“ This,” said he, “ is Khaled, my beloved son-in-law, 
the husband of my only daughter, whom it has pleased 
Allah to send me, as the stay of my old age and as the 
successor to my kingdom. He will be terrible in war 
as Khaled ibn Walid, his namesake, the Sword of the 
Lord, and gentle and just in peace as Abu Bakr of 
blessed memory. He is as brave as the lion, as strong 
as the camel, as swift as the ostrich, as sagacious as 
the fox and as generous as the pelican, who feeds her 
young with the blood of her own breast. Love him 
therefore, as you have loved me, for he is extremely 
worthy of affection, and hate his enemies and be faith- 
ful to him in the time of danger. By the blessing of 
Allah he shall rear up children to me in my old age, to 
be with you when he is gone.” 

Thereupon Khaled turned and answered, speaking 
modestly but with much dignity in his manner. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


35 


“Ye men of Nejed, this is my marriage feast and I 
invite you all to be merry with me. Whether it shall 
please Allah to give me a long life, or whether it shall 
please him to take me this night I know not. We are 
in the hand of Allah. But this I do know. I will 
love you as my own people, seeing that I have no peo- 
ple of my own. I will fight for you as a man fights for 
his own soul, for his wife and for his children, and I 
will divide justly the spoils in war, and give in peace 
whatsoever I am able, to all those who are in need. I 
swear by Allah ! You are all witnesses.” 

The courtiers and all the guests were much pleased 
with this short speech, for they saw that Khaled was a 
man of few words and not proud or overbearing, and 
none could look into his face and doubt his promise. 
For the present moment at least Zehowah’s prediction 
had been verified, for no one was jealous of him, and 
there was but one party among them all and that was 
for him. So they all feasted together in harmony until 
the sun was low. 

In the meantime Zehowah remained in the harem, 
surrounded by her women, and a separate meal was 
brought to them. They all sat upon the rich carpets 
leaning on cushions set against the walls, and small 
low tables were brought in, covered with dishes and 
bowls containing delicately prepared rice and mutton 
in great abundance and fresh blanket bread, hot from 
the stones, and olives brought from Syria. Afterwards 
came sweetmeats without number, such as Hadji Mo- 
hammed knew how to prepare, and gold and silver 


36 


KHALED 


goblets filled with a drink made from large sweet 
lemons and water, which is called “treng.” Zehowah 
indeed ate sparingly, for she was accustomed to such 
dainties every day, but her women were delighted with 
the abundance and left nothing to be taken away. 

While they were eating, six of the women played 
upon musical instruments by turns, while others 
danced slow and graceful measures, singing as they 
moved, and describing the unspeakable happiness 
which awaited their princess in marriage. Afterwards 
when the tables had been taken away and they had 
washed their hands with rose water from Ajjem, 
Zehowah commanded the singing and the dancing to 
cease, and the women brought her one by one the 
dresses which she was to wear before Khaled. They 
were very magnificent, for it had needed many years 
to prepare them, and a great weight of gold and silver 
threads had been weighed out to the tailors and em- 
broiderers who had worked in the preparation of them 
ever since Zehowah had been two years old. For the 
piece of material is weighed first, and then the gold, 
and afterwards, when the work is finished, the whole is 
weighed together, lest the tailors should steal anything. 

But Zehowah looked coldly at the garments, one after 
the other, as they were brought and taken away, and 
the women fancied that she was to be married to the 
stranger against her will, and that she remembered the 
Indian prince. 

“ It is a pity,” one of them ventured to say, “ that 
the bridegroom has not brought any elephants with 


A TALE OF AEABIA 


37 


him, for we would have watched them from the bal- 
conies, since they are diverting beasts.” 

“ And it is a pity,” said Zehowah, scornfully, “ that 
my husband has not a round, soft face, like the moon 
in May, and the eyes of a gazelle and the heart of a 
hare. Truly, such a one would have made you a good 
king, seeing that he was also an unbeliever ! ” 

“ Nay,” said the woman, humbly, “Allah forbid that 
I should make a comparison, or bring an ill omen on 
the day by speaking of that which chanced a year ago. 
Truly, I only spoke of elephants, and not of men. 
For, surely, we all said when we saw him in the court 
that he looked a brave warrior and a goodly man.” 

Then a messenger came from the Sultan saying that 
it was time to make ready. So they went to another 
apartment, where the nuptial chamber had been pre- 
pared. The Sultan came, then, leading Khaled, and 
followed by the Kadi, and all the women veiled them- 
selves while the latter read the declaration of marriage. 
After that they all withdrew and Khaled took his seat 
upon the high couch in the middle of the room. Pres- 
ently all the women returned, unveiled, with loud 
singing and playing of instruments, leading Zehowah 
dressed in the first of the dresses which she was to put 
on, and which, though it was very splendid, was of 
course the least magnificent of all those which had been 
prepared. But Khaled sat in his place looking on 
quietly, for he was acquainted with the custom, and he 
cared little for the rich garments, but looked always 
into Zeho wall’s face. 


CHAPTER III 


K HALED sat with his sword upon his feet, and when 
Zehowah was not in the room he played with the hilt 
and thought of all that was happening. 

“Truly,” he said to himself, “Allah is great. Was 
I not, but a few days since, one of the genii condemned 
to perish at the day of the resurrection ? And am I not 
now a man, married to the most beautiful woman in the 
whole world, and the wisest and the best, needing only 
to be loved by her in order to obtain an undying soul ? 
And why should this woman not love me? Truly, we 
shall see before long, when this mummery is finished.” 

So he sat on the couch while Zehowah was led before 
him again and again, each time in clothing more splen- 
did than before, and each time with new songs and new 
music. But at the last time the attendants left her 
standing before him and went away, and only a very 
old woman remained at the door, screaming out in a 
cracked voice the customary exhortations. Then she, 
too, went away and the door was shut and Khaled and 
Zehowah were alone. 

It was now near the middle of the night. The 
chamber was large and high, lighted by a number of 
hanging lamps such as are made in Bagdad, of brass 
perforated with beautiful designs and filled with 
38 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


39 


coloured glasses, in each of which a little wick floats 
upon oil. Upon the walls rich carpets were hung, both 
Arabian and Persian, some taken in war as booty, and 
some brought by merchants in time of peace. A brass 
chaflng dish stood at some distance from the couch, and 
upon the coals the women had thrown powdered myrrh 
and benzoin before they went away. But Khaled 
cared little for these things, since he had seen all the 
treasures of the earth in their most secret depositories. 

Zehowah had watched him narrowly during the cere- 
mony of the dresses and had seen that he felt no sur- 
prise at anything which was brought before him. 

“ His own country must be full of great wealth and 
magnificence,” she thought, “since so much treasure 
does not astonish him.” And she was disappointed. 

Now that they were alone, he still sat in silence, gaz- 
ing at her as she stood beside him, and not even think- 
ing of any speech, for he was overcome and struck 
dumb by her eyes. 

“ You are not pleased with what I have shown you,” 
Zehowah said at last in a tone of displeasure and dis- 
appointment. “ And yet you have seen the wealth of 
my father’s palace.” 

“ I have seen neither wealth nor treasure, neither 
rich garments, nor precious stones nor chains of gold 
nor embroideries of pearls,” Khaled answered slowly. 

But Zehowah frowned and tapped the carpet im- 
patiently with her foot where she stood, for she was 
annoyed, having expected him to praise the beauty of 
her many dresses. 


40 


KHALED 


“ They who have eyes can see,” she said. “ But if 
you are not pleased, my father will give me a hundred 
dresses more beautiful than these, and pearls and jewels 
without end.” 

“ I should not see them,” Khaled replied. “ I have 
seen two jewels which have dazzled me so that I can 
see nothing else.” 

Zehowah gazed at him with a look of inquiry. 

“ I have seen the eyes of Zehowah,” he continued, 
“which are as the stars Sirius and Aldebaran, when 
they are over the desert in the nights of winter. What 
jewels can you show me like these ? ” 

Then Zehowah laughed softly and sat down beside 
her husband on the edge of the couch. 

“Nevertheless,” she said, “the dresses are very rich. 
You might admire them also.” 

“ I will look at them when you are not near me, for 
then my sight will be restored for other things.” 

Khaled took her hand in his and held it. 

“ Tell me, Zehowah, will you love me ? ” he asked in 
a soft voice. 

“ You are my lord and my master,” she answered, look- 
ing modestly downward, and her hand lay quite still. 

She was so very beautiful that as Khaled sat beside 
her and looked at her downcast face, and knew that she 
was his, he could not easily believe that she was cold 
and indifferent to him. 

“ By Allah ! ” he thought, “ can it be so hard to get a 
woman’s love ? Truly, I think she begins to love me 
already.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


41 


Zehowah looked up and smiled carelessly as though 
answering his question, but Khaled was obliged to 
admit in his heart that the answer lacked clearness, 
for he found it no easier to interpret a woman’s smile 
than men had found it before him, and have found it 
since, even to this day. 

“ You have had many suitors,” he said at last, “ and it is 
said that your father has given you your own free choice, 
allowing you to see them and hear them speak while he 
was receiving them. Tell me why you have chosen me 
rather than the rest, unless it is because you love me ? 
For I came with empty hands, and without servants or 
slaves, or retinue of any kind, riding alone out of the Red 
Desert. It was therefore for myself that you took me.” 

“ You are right. It was for yourself that I took you.” 

“ Then it was for love of me, was it not ? ” 

“ There were and still are many and good reasons,” 
answered Zehowah, calmly, and at the same time with- 
drawing her hand from his and smoothing back the 
black hair from her forehead. “ I told them all to my 
father, and he was convinced.” 

“ Tell them to me also,” said Khaled. 

So she explained all to him in detail, making him 
see everything as she saw it herself. And the explana- 
tion was so very clear, that Khaled felt a cold chill in 
his heart as he understood that she had chosen him 
rather for politic reasons, than because she wished him 
for her husband. 

“ And yet,” she added at the end, “ it was the will of 
Allah, for otherwise I would not have chosen you.” 


42 


KHALED 


“But surely,” he said, somewhat encouraged by 
these last words, “ there was some love in the choice, 
too.” 

“ How can I tell ! ” she exclaimed, with a little laugh. 
“ What is love ? ” 

Finding himself confronted by such an amazing 
question, Khaled was silent, and took her hand again. 
For though many have asked what love is, no one 
has ever been able to find an answer in words to 
satisfy the questioner, seeing that the answer can have 
no more to do with words than love itself, a matter 
sufficiently explained by a certain wise man, who under- 
stood the heart of man. If, said he, a man who loves a 
woman, or a woman who loves a man, could give in 
words the precise reason why he or she loves, then love 
itself could be defined in language ; but as no man or 
woman has ever succeeded in doing this, I infer that 
they who love best do not themselves know in what 
love consists — still less therefore can any one else know, 
wherefore the definition is impossible, and no one need 
waste time in trying to find it. 

A certain wit has also said that although it be im- 
possible for any man to explain the nature of love to 
many persons at the same time, he generally finds it 
easy to make his explanations to one person only. But 
this is a mere quibbling jest and not deserving of any 
attention. 

Zehowah expected an answer to her question, and 
Khaled was silent, not because he was as yet too little 
acquainted with the feelings of a man to give them 


A TALE OP ARABIA 


43 


expression, but because he already felt so much that it 
was hard for him to speak at all. 

Zehowah laughed and shook her head, for she was 
not of a timid temper. 

“ How can you expect me to say that I love you, 
when you yourself are unable to 'answer such a simple 
question ? ” she asked. “ And besides, are you not my 
lord and my master ? What is it then to you, whether 
I love you or not ? ” 

But again Khaled was silent, debating whether he 
should tell her the truth, how the angel had promised in 
Allah’s name that if she loved him he should obtain an 
undying soul, and how the task of obtaining her love 
had been laid upon him as a sort of atonement for 
having slain the Indian prince. But as he reflected he 
understood that this would probably estrange her all 
the more from him. 

“Yet I can answer your question,” he said at last. 
“ What is love ? It is that which is in me for you only.” 

“ But how am I to know what that is ? ” asked 
Zehowah, drawing up the smooth gold bracelets upon 
her arm and letting them fall down to her wrist, so 
that they jangled like a camel’s bell. 

“ If you love me you will know,” Khaled answered, 
“ for then, perhaps, you will feel a tenth part of what 
I feel.” 

“ And why not all that you feel ? ” she asked, look- 
ing at him, but still playing with the bracelets. 

“ Because it is impossible for any woman to love as 
much as I love you, Zehowah.” 


44 


KHALED 


“You mean, perhaps, that a woman is too weak to 
love so well,” she suggested. “And you think, per- 
haps, that we are weak because we sit all our lives 
upon the carpets in the harem eating sweetmeats, and 
listening to singing girls and to old women who tell 
us tales of long ago. Yet there have been strong 
women too — as strong as men. Kenda, who tore out 
the heart of Kamsa — was she weak ? ” 

“Women are stronger to hate than to love,” said 
Khaled. 

“ But a man can forget his hatred in the love of a 
woman, and his strength also,” laughed Zehowah. “ I 
would rather that you should not love me at all, than 
that you should forget to be strong in the day of 
battle. For I have married you that you may lead 
my people to war and bring home the spoil.” 

“ And if I destroy all your enemies and the enemies 
of your people, will you love me then, Zehowah?” 

“ Why should I love you then, more than now ? 
What has war to do with love ? Again, I ask, what 
is it to you whether I love you or not? Am I not 
your wife, and are you not my master ? What is this 
love of which you talk? Is it a rich garment that 
you can wear ? A precious stone that you can fasten 
in your turban ? A rich carpet to spread in your 
house ? A treasure of gold, a mountain of ambergris, 
a bushel of pearls from Oman ? Why do you covet 
it ? Am I not beautiful enough ? Then is love henna 
to make my hair bright, or kohl to darken my eyes, 
or a boiled egg with almonds to smooth my face ? I 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


45 


have all these things, and ointments from Egypt, and 
perfumes from Syria, and if I am not beautiful enough 
to please you, it is the will of Allah, and love will not 
make me fairer.” 

“Yet love is beauty,” Khaled answered. “For 
Kadijah was lovely in the eyes of the Prophet, upon 
whom be peace, because she loved him, though she 
was a widow and old.” 

“Am I a widow? Am I old?” asked Zehowah, 
with some indignation. “ Do I need the imaginary 
cosmetic you call love to smooth my wrinkles, to 
lighten my eyes, or to make my teeth white ? ” 

“No. You need nothing to make you beautiful.” 

“ And for the matter of that, I can say it of you. 
You tell me that you love me. Is it love that makes 
your body tall and straight, your beard black, your 
forehead smooth, your hand strong? Would not any 
woman see what I see, whether you loved her or not ? 
See ! Is your hand whiter than mine because you 
love and I do not ? ” 

She laughed again as she held her hand beside 
his. 

“ Truly,” thought Khaled, “ it is less easy than I 
supposed. For the heart of a woman who does not 
love is like the desert when the wind blows over it 
and there are neither tracks nor landmarks. And I 
am wandering in this desert like a man seeking lost 
camels.” 

But he said nothing, for he was not yet skilled in 
the arguments of love. Thereupon Zehowah smiled, 


46 


KHALED 


and resting her cheek upon her hand, looked into his 
face, as though saying scornfully, “ Is it not all vanity 
and folly?” 

Khaled sighed, for he was disappointed, as a thirsty 
man who, coming to drink of a clear spring, finds the 
water bitter, while his thirst increases and grows 
unbearable. 

“ Why do you sigh ? ” Zehowah asked, after a little 
silence. “ Are you weary ? Are you tired with the 
feasting ? Are you full of bitterness, because I do 
not love you? Command me and I will obey. Are 
you not my lord to whom I am subject ? ” 

He did not speak, but she drew him to her, so that 
his head rested upon her bosom, and she began to sing 
to him in a low voice. 

For a long time Khaled kept his eyes shut, listening 
to her voice. Then, on a sudden, he looked up, and 
without speaking so much as a word, he clasped her 
in his arms and kissed her. 

Before it was day there was a great tumult in the 
streets of Riad, of which the noise came up even to 
the chamber where Khaled and Zehowah were sleep- 
ing. Zehowah awoke and listened, wondering what 
had happened and trying to understand the cries of 
the distant multitude. Then she laid her hand upon 
Khaled’s forehead and waked him. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked. 

“ It is war,” she answered. “ The enemy have sur- 
prised the city in the night of the feast. Arise and 
take arms and go out to the people.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


47 


Khaled sprang up and in a moment he was clothed 
and had girt on his sword. Then he took Zehowah 
in his arms. 

“ While I live, you are safe,” he said. 

“ Am I afraid ? Go quickly,” she answered. 

At that time the Sultan of Nejed was at war with 
the northern tribes of Shammar, and the enemy had 
taken advantage of the month of Ramadhan, in which 
few persons travel, to advance in great numbers to 
Riad. During the three days’ feast of Bairam they 
had moved on every night, slaying the inhabitants of 
the villages so that not one had escaped to bring the 
news, and in the daytime they had hidden themselves 
wherever they could find shelter. But in the night in 
which Khaled and Zehowah were married they reached 
the very walls of the city, and waiting until all the 
people were asleep, a party of them had climbed up upon 
the ramparts and had opened one of the gates to their 
companions after killing the guards. 

Khaled found his mare and mounted her without 
saddle or bridle in his haste, then drawing his sabre he 
rode swiftly out of the palace into the confusion. The 
enemy with their long spears were driving the panic- 
stricken guards and the shrieking people before them 
towards the palace, slaughtering all whom they over- 
took, so that the gutters of the streets were already 
flowing with blood, and the horses of the enemy stum- 
bled over the bodies of the defenders. The whole 
multitude of the pursued and the pursuers were just 
breaking out of the principal street into the open space 


48 


KHALED 


before the palace when Khaled met them, a single man 
facing ten thousand. 

“ I shall certainly perish in this fight,” he said to 
himself, “ and yet I shall not receive the reward of the 
faithful, since Allah has not given me a soul. Never- 
theless certain of these dogs shall eat dirt before the 
rest get into the palace.” 

So he pressed his legs to the bare sides of his mare 
and lifted up his sword and rode at the foe, having 
neither buckler, nor helmet, nor shirt of mail to protect 
him, but only his clothes and his turban. But his arm 
was strong, and it has been said by the wise that it is 
better to fall upon an old lion with a reed than to 
stand armed in the way of a man who seeks death. 

“ Yallah ! The Sword of the Lord ! ” shouted Kha- 
led, in such a terrible voice that the assailants ceased to 
kill for a moment, and the terrified guards turned to see 
whence so great a voice could proceed ; and some who 
had seen Khaled recognised him and ran to meet him, 
and the others followed. 

When the enemy saw a single man riding towards 
them across the great square before the palace, they 
sent up a shout of derision, and turned again to the 
slaughter of such of the inhabitants as could not extri- 
cate themselves. 

“Shall one man stop ah army?” they said. “Shall 
a fox turn back a herd of hyienas? ” 

But when Khaled was among them they found less 
matter for laughter. For the sword was keen, the 
mare was swift to double and turn, and Khaled’s hand 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


49 


was strong. In the twinkling of an eye two of the 
enemy lay dead, the one cloven to the chin, the other 
headless. 

Then a strange fever seized Khaled, such as he had 
not heard of, and all things turned to scarlet before his 
eyes, both the walls of the houses, and the faces and 
the garments of his foes. Men who saw him say that 
his face was white and shining in the dawn, and that 
the flashing of the sword was like a storm of lightning 
about his head, and after each flash there was a great 
rain of blood, and a crashing like thunder as the horses 
and men of the enemy fell to the earth. 

In the meantime, too, the soldiers of the city and the 
Bedouins of the desert who were within the walls for 
the feast took courage, and turning fiercely began to 
drive the assailants back by the way they had come, 
towards the market-place in the bazaar. But those 
behind still kept pressing forward while those in 
front were driven back, and the press became so 
great that the Shammars could no longer wield their 
weapons. The enemy were crowded together like 
sheep in a fold, and Khaled, with his men, began to 
cut a broad road through the very midst of them, 
hewing them down in ranks and throwing them 
aside, as corn is harvested in Egypt. 

But after some time Khaled saw that he was alone, 
with a few followers, surrounded by a great throng of 
the enemy, for some of his men had been slain after 
slaying many of their foes, and some had not been able 
to follow, being hindered at first by the heaps of dead 


60 


KHALED 


and afterwards by the multitude of their opponents 
who closed in again over the bloody way through 
which Khaled had passed. 

And now the Shammars saw that Khaled could not 
escape them, and they pressed him on every side, but 
the archers dared not shoot at him for fear of hitting 
their own friends, if their arrows chanced to go by the 
mark. Otherwise he would undoubtedly have perished, 
since he had no armour, and not even a buckler with 
which to ward off the darts. But they thrust at him 
with spears and struck at him with their swords, and 
wounded him more than once, though he was not con- 
scious of pain or loss of blood, being hot with the fever 
of the fight. He was hard pressed therefore, and while 
he smote without ceasing he began to know that unless 
a speedy rescue came to him, his hour was at hand. 
From the borders of the market-place, the men of Riad 
could still see his sword flashing and striking, and they 
still heard his fierce cry. 

He looked about him as he fought, and he saw that 
he was now almost alone. One after another, the few 
who had penetrated so far forward with him into the 
press were overwhelmed by numbers, and fell bleeding 
from a hundred wounds, till only a score were left, and 
Khaled saw that unless he could now cut his way free, 
he must inevitably perish. But the press was stubborn, 
and a man might as well hope to make his way through 
a herd of camels crowded together in a narrow street. 
Then Khaled bethought him of a stratagem. He alone 
was on horseback, for the enemy’s riders had ridden 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


51 


before, and he had met them in the street leading to 
the palace, when he had himself slain many, and where 
the rest were even now falling under the swords of the 
men of Riad. And the few men who were with him 
were also all on foot. Therefore looking across the 
market-place he made as though he saw a great force 
coming to his assistance, and he shouted with all his 
breath, while his arm never rested. 

“ Smite, men of Nejed ! ” he cried. “ For I see the 
Sultan himself coming to meet us with five hundred 
horsemen ! Smite ! Yallah ! It is the Sword of the 
Lord ! ” 

Hearing these words, his men were encouraged, and 
of the enemy many turned their heads to see the new 
danger. But being on foot they were hindered from 
seeing by the throng. Yet so much the more Khaled 
shouted that the Sultan was coming, and many of the 
heads that turned to look were not turned back again, 
but rolled down to the feet of those to whom they had 
belonged. The brave men who were with Khaled took 
heart and hewed with all their might, taking up the 
cry of their leader when they saw that it disconcerted 
their foes, so that the last took fright, and the panic 
ran through the whole multitude. 

“ We shall be slain like sheep, and taken like locusts 
under a mantle, for we cannot move ! ” they cried, and 
they began to press away out of the market-place, forc- 
ing their comrades before them into the narrow streets. 

But here many perished. For while every man in 
Riad had taken his sword and had gone out of his 


52 


KHALED 


house to fight, the women had dragged up cauldrons 
of boiling water, and also hand-mill stones, to the 
roofs, and they scalded and crushed their retreating 
foes. Then, too, as the market-place was cleared,, the 
soldiers came on from the side of the palace, having 
slain all that stood in their way and taken most of 
their horses alive, which alone was a great booty, for 
there are not many horses in Nejed besides those of 
the Sultan, though these are the very best and fleetest 
in all Arabia. But the Shammars of the north are 
great horse-breeders. So the soldiers mounted and 
joined Khaled in the pursuit, and a great slaughter 
followed in the streets, though some of the enemy 
were able to escape to the gates, and warn those of 
their fellows who were outside to flee to the hills for 
safety, leaving much booty behind. 

At the time of the second call to prayer Khaled dis- 
mounted from his mare in the market-place, and there 
was not one of the enemy left alive within the walls. 
Those who remember that day say that there were five 
thousand dead in the streets in Riad. 

Khaled made such ablution as he could, and having 
prayed and given thanks to Allah, he went back on foot 
to the palace, his bay mare following him, and thrusting 
her nose into his hand as he walked. For she was little 
hurt, and the blood that covered her shoulders and her 
flanks was not her own. But Khaled had many wounds 
on him, so that his companions wondered how he was 
able to walk. 

In the court of the palace the Sultan came to meet 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


53 


him, and fell upon his neck and embraced him, for 
many messengers had come, from time to time, telling 
how the fight went, and of the great slaughter. And 
Khaled smiled, for he thought that he should now win 
the love of Zehowah. 

“ Said I not truly that he is as brave as a lion, and 
as strong as the camel ? ” cried the Sultan, addressing 
those who stood in the court. “ Has he not scattered 
our enemies as the wind scatters the sand ? Surely he 
is well called by the name Khaled.” 

“ Forget not your own men,” Khaled answered, “for 
they have shared in the danger and have slain more 
than I, and deserve the spoil. There was a score of 
stout fellows with me at the last in the market-place, 
whose faces I should know again on a cloudy night. 
They fought as well as I, and it was the will of Allah 
that their enemies should broil everlastingly and drink 
boiling water. Let them be rewarded.” 

“ They shall every one have a rich garment and a 
sum of money, besides their share of the spoil. But as 
for you, my beloved son, go in and rest, and bind up 
your wounds, and afterwards there shall be feasting 
and merriment until the night.” 

“ The enemy is not destroyed yet,” answered Khaled. 
“ Command rather that the army make ready for the 
pursuit, and when I have washed I will arm myself 
and we will ride out and pursue the dogs until not one 
of them is left alive, and by the help of Allah we will 
take all Shammar and lay it under tribute and bring 
back the women captive. After that we shall feast 


54 


KHALED 


more safely, and sleep without fear of being waked by a 
herd of hysenas in our streets.” 

“Nay, but you must rest before going upon this 
expedition,” objected the Sultan. 

“ The true believer will find rest in the grave, and 
feasting in paradise,” answered Khaled. 

“ This is true. But even the camel must eat and drink 
on the journey, or both he and his master will perish.” 

“ Let us then eat and drink quickly, that we may the 
sooner go.” 

“ As you will, let it be,” said the Sultan, with a sigh, 
for he loved feasting and music, being now too old to 
go out and fight himself as he had formerly done. 

Thereupon Khaled went into the harem and returned 
to Zehowah’s apartment. As he went the women 
gathered round him with cries of gladness and songs 
of triumph, staunching the blood that flowed from his 
wounds with their veils and garments as he walked. 
And others ran before to prepare the bath and to tell 
Zehowah of his coming. 

When she saw him she ran forward and took him by 
the hands and led him in, and herself she bathed his 
wounds and bound them up with precious balsams of 
great healing power, not suffering any of the women to 
help her nor to touch him, but sending them away so 
that she might be alone with Khaled. 

“ I have slain certain of your enemies, Zehowah,” he 
said, at last, “ and I have driven out the rest from the 
city.” As yet neither of them had spoken. 

“ Do you think that I have not heard what you have 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


55 


done ? ” Zehowah asked. “ You have saved us all from 
death and captivity. You are our father and our 
mother. And now I will bring you food and drink 
and afterwards you shall sleep.” 

“ So you are well pleased with the doings of the 
husband you have married,” he said. 

He was displeased, for he had supposed that she 
would love him for his deeds and for his wounds and 
that she would speak differently. But though she 
tended him and bound his wounds, and bathed his brow 
with perfumed waters, and laid pillows under his head 
and fanned him, as a slave might have done, he saw 
that there was no warmth in her cheek, and that the 
depths of her eyes were empty, and that her hands were 
neither hot nor cold. By all these signs he knew that 
she felt no love for him, so he spoke coldly to her. 

“Is it for me to be pleased or displeased with the 
deeds of my lord and master ? ” she asked. “ Neverthe- 
less, thousands are even now blessing your name and 
returning thanks to Allah for having sent them a 
preserver in the hour of danger. I am but one of 
them.” 

“ I would rather see a faint light in your eyes, as of 
a star rising in the desert, than hear the blessings of all 
the men of Nejed. I would rather that your hand were 
cold when it touches mine, and your cheek hot when I 
kiss it, than that your father should bestow upon me all 
the treasures of Riad.” 

“ Is that love ? ” asked Zehowah, with a laugh. “ A 
cold hand, a hot cheek, a bright eye ? ” 


56 


KHALED 


Khaled was silent, for he saw that she understood 
his words but not his meaning. It was now noon and 
it was very hot, even in the inner shade of the harem, 
and Khaled was glad to rest after the hard fighting, 
for his many slight wounds smarted with the healing 
balsam, and his heart was heavy and discontented. 

Then Zehowah called a slave woman to fan him with 
a palm leaf, and presently she brought him meat and 
rice and dates to eat, and cool drink in a golden cup, 
and she sat at his feet while he refreshed himself.* 

“ How many did you slay with your own hand ? ” she 
asked at last, taking up the good sword which lay beside 
him on the carpet. 


CHAPTER IV 


Khaled pondered deeply, being uncertain what to 
do, and trying to find out some action which could win 
for him what he wanted. Zehowah received no answer 
to her question as to the number of enemies he had 
slain and she did not ask again, for she thought that 
he was weary and wished to rest in silence. 

“ What do you like best in the whole world ? ” he 
asked after a long time, to see what she would say. 

“ I like you best,” she answered, smiling, while she 
still played with his sword. 

“ That is very strange,” Khaled answered, musing. 
But the colour rose darkly in his cheeks above his 
beard, for he was pleased now as he had been displeased 
before. 

“ Why is it strange ? ” asked Zehowah. “ Are you 
not the palm tree in my plain, and a tower of refuge 
for my people ? ” 

“ And will you dry up the well from which the tree 
draws life, and take away the corner-stone of the tower’s 
foundation ? ” 

“ You speak in fables,” said Zehowah, laughing. 

“Yet you imagined the fable yourself, when you 
likened me to a palm and to a tower. But I am no 
lover of allegories. The sword is my argument, and my 

67 


58 


KHALED 


wit is in my arm. The wall by the tree is the wall of 
love, and the chief foundation of the tower is the love 
of Zehowah. If you destroy that, the tree will wither 
and the tower will fall.” 

“ Surely there was never such a man as you,” Ze- 
howah answered, half jesting but half in earnest. “ You 
are as one who has bought a white mare ; and though 
she is fleet, and good to look at, and obedient to his 
voice and knee, yet he is discontented because she 
cannot speak to him, and he would fain have her black 
instead of white, and if possible would teach her to sing 
like a Persian nightingale.” 

“ Is it then not natural in a woman to love man ? 
Have you heard no tales of love from the story tellers of 
the harem ? ” 

“I have heard many such tales, but none of them 
were told of me,” Zehowah replied. “ Will you drink 
again ? Is the drink too sweet, or is it not cool ? ” 

She had risen from her seat and held the golden cup, 
bending down to him, so that her face was near his. 
He laid his hand upon her shoulder. 

“ Hear me, Zehowah,” he said. “ I want but one 
thing in the world, and it was for that I came out of 
the Red Desert to be your husband. And that thing I 
will have, though the price be greater than rubies, or 
than blood, or than life itself.” 

“ If it is mine, I freely give it to you. If it is not 
mine, take it by force, or I will help you to take it by 
a stratagem, if I can. Am I not your wife ? ” 

She spoke thus, supposing from his face that he meant 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


59 


some treasure that could be taken by strength or by 
wile, for she could not believe a man could speak so 
seriously of a mere thought such as love. 

“Neither my right hand nor your wit can give me 
this, but only your heart, Zehowah,” he answered, still 
holding her and looking at her. 

But now she did not laugh, for she saw that he was 
greatly in earnest. 

“ You are still talking of love,” she said. “ And you 
are not jesting. I do not know what to answer you. 
Gladly will I say, I love you. Is that all ? What is it 
else ? Are those the words ? ” 

“I care little for the words. But I will have the 
reality, though it cost your life and mine.” 

“My life? Will you take my life, for the sake of a 
thought ? ” 

“ A thought ! ” he exclaimed. “ Do you call love a 
thought? I had not believed a woman could be so 
cold as that.” 

“If not a thought, what then? I have spoken the 
truth. If it were a treasure, or anything that can be 
taken, you could take it, and I could help you. But if 
the possibility of possessing it lie not in deeds, it lies 
in thoughts, and is itself a thought. If you can teach 
me, I will think what you will ; but if you cannot teach 
me, who shall ? And how will it profit you to take my 
life or your own ? ” 

“ Is it possible that love is only a thought ? ” asked 
Khaled, speaking rather to himself than to her. 

“ It must be,” she answered. “ The body is what 


60 


KHALED 


it is in the eyes of others, but the soul is what it thinks 
itself to be, happy or unhappy, loving or not loving.” 

“ You are too subtle for me, Zehowah,” Khaled said. 
“ Yet I know that this is not all true.” 

For he knew that he possessed no soul, and yet he 
loved her. Moreover he could think himself happy 
or unhappy. 

“You are too subtle,” he repeated. “I will take 
my sword again and I will go out and fight, and pursue 
the enemy and waste their country, for it is not so hard 
to cut through steel as to touch the heart of a woman 
who does not love, and it is easier to tear down towers 
and strongholds of stone with the naked hands than to 
build a temple upon the moving sand of an empty 
heart.” 

Khaled would have risen at once, but Zehowah took 
his hand and entreated him to stay with her. 

“ Will you go out in the heat of the day, wounded 
and wearied ? ” she asked. “ Surely you will take a 
fever and die before you have followed the Shammars 
so far as two days’ journey.” 

“ My wounds are slight, and I am not weary,” Khaled 
answered. “ When the smith has heated the iron in 
the forge, does he wait until it is cold before striking? ” 

“ But think also of the soldiers, who have striven 
hard, and cannot thus go out upon a great expedition 
without preparation as well as rest.” 

“ I will take those whom I can find. And if they 
will go with me, it is well. But if not, I will go alone, 
and they and the rest will follow after.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


61 


“ It is summer, too,” said Zehowah, keeping him 
back. “ Is this a time to go out into th-e northern 
desert ? Both men and beasts will perish by the way.” 

“Has not Allah bound every man’s fate about his 
neck ? And can a man cast it from him ? ” 

“I know not otherwise, but if heat and hunger and 
thirst do not kill the men, they will certainly destroy 
the beasts, whose names are not recorded by Asrael, 
and who have no destiny of their own.” 

“You hinder me,” said Khaled. “And yet you do 
not know how many of the Shammar may be yet lurk- 
ing within a day’s march of the city, slaying your 
people, burning their houses and destroying their har- 
vest. Let me go. Will you love me better if I stay ? ” 
“You will be the better able to get the victory.” 

“ Will you love me better if I stay ? ” 

“If you go now, you may fail in your purpose and 
perish as well. How could I love you at all then ? ” 

“ It is the victory you love then — not me ? ” 

“Could I love defeat? Nay, do not be angry with 
me. Stay here at least until the evening. Think of 
the burning sun and the raging thirst and the smarting 
of your wounds which have only been dressed this first 

time. Think of the soldiers, too ” 

“They can bear what I can bear. Was it not sum- 
mer time when the Prophet went out against the 
Romans ? ” 

“I do not know. Stay with me, Khaled.” 

“I will come back when I have destroyed the 
Shammars.” 


62 


KHALED 


“ And if the soldiers will not go with you, will you 
indeed go out alone ? ” 

“ Yes. I will go alone. When they §ee that they 
will follow me. They are not foxes. They are brave 
men.” 

Khaled rose and girt his sword about him. Zehowah 
helped him, seeing that she could not persuade him to 
stay. 

“Farewell,” he said, shortly, and without so much 
as touching her hand he turned and went out. She 
followed him to the door of the room and stood watch- 
ing as he went away. 

“ One of us two was to rule,” she said to herself, 
“ and it is he, for I cannot move him. But what is 
this talk of love ? Does he need love, who is himself 
the master ? ” 

She sighed and went back to the carpet on which 
they had been sitting. Then she called in her women 
and bid them tell her all they had heard about the 
fight in the morning ; and they, thinking to please her, 
extolled the deeds of Khaled and of the tens he had 
slain they made hundreds, and of the thousands of the 
enemy’s army they made tens of thousands, till the 
walls of Riad could not have contained the hosts of 
which they spoke, and the dry sand of the desert could 
not have drunk all the blood which had been shed. 

Meanwhile Khaled went into the outer court of the 
palace, where many soldiers were congregated together 
in the shade of the high wall, eating camel’s meat and 
blanket bread and drinking the water from the well. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


63 


They were all able-bodied and unhurt, for those who 
had been wounded were at their houses, tended by their 
wives. 

“ Men of Riad ! ” cried Khaled, standing before 
them. “We have fought a good fight this morning 
and the power of our foes is broken. But all are not 
yet destroyed, and it may be that there are many 
thousands still lurking within a day’s march of the city, 
slaying the people, burning their houses and destroying 
their harvests. Let us go out and kill them all before 
they are able to go back to their own country. After- 
wards we will pursue those who are already escaping, 
and we will lay all the tribes of Shammar under tribute 
and bring back the women captive.” 

Thereupon a division arose among the soldiers. 
Some were for going at once with Khaled, but others 
said it was the hot season and no time for war. 

“ It is indeed summer,” said Khaled. “ But if the 
Shammars were able to come to Riad in the heat, the 
men of Riad are able to go to them. And I at least 
will go at once, and those who wish to share the spoil 
will go with me, but those who are satisfied to sit in 
the shade and eat camel’s meat will stay behind. In 
an hour’s time I will ride out of the northern gate.” 

So saying, Khaled rode slowly down into the city 
towards the market-place. The people were carrying 
away their own dead, and dragging off the bodies of 
their enemies, with camels, by fours and fives tied to- 
gether to bury them in a great ditch without the walls. 
When Khaled appeared, many of the men gathered 


64 


KHALED 


round him, with cries of joy, for they had supposed 
that some of his wounds were dangerous and that they 
should not see him for many days. 

“Wallah! He is with us again!” they shouted, 
jostling each other to get near, and standing on tip- 
toe to see the good mare that had carried him so well 
in the fight. 

“ Masallah ! I am with you,” answered Khaled, 
“ and if you will go with me we will send many more 
of the Shammars to eat thorns and thistles, as many as 
dwell in Kasim and Tabal Shammar as far as Hail ; 
and by the help of Allah we will take the city of Hail 
itself and divide the spoil and bring away the women 
captive ; and when we have taken all that there is we 
will lay the land under tribute and make it subject to 
Nejed. So let those who will go with me arm them- 
selves and take every man his horse or his camel, and 
dates and barley and water-skins, and in an hour’s time 
we will ride out. For Allah will certainly give us the 
victory.” 

“ Let us bury the dead to-day and to-morrow we will 
go,” said many of those nearest to him. 

“Are there no old men and boys in Riad to bind the 
sheaves you have mown ? ” asked Khaled. “ And are 
there no women to mourn over the dead of your kin- 
dred who have fallen in a good fight ? And as for to- 
morrow, it is yet in Allah’s hand. But to-day we have 
already with us. However, if you will not go with me, 
I will go alone.” 

The men were pleased with Khaled’s speech, and 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


65 


indeed the greater part of the dead were buried by this 
time, for all the people had made haste to the work, 
fearing lest the bodies should bring a pestilence among 
them, since it was summer-time and very hot. Then 
all those who were unhurt and could bear arms, went 
and washed themselves, and took their weapons and 
food, as Khaled had directed them. Before the call to 
afternoon prayers the whole host went out of the north- 
ern gate. 

Then Khaled accomplished all that he had spoken of, 
and much more, for he drove the scattered force of the 
enemy before him, overtaking all at last and slaying all 
whom he overtook as far as Zulfah, which is by the nar- 
row end of the Nefud. Here he rested a short time, 
and then quickly crossing the sand, he entered the 
country called Kasim, which is subject to the Sham- 
mars. Here he was told by a woman who had been 
taken that the Shammars were coming with a new 
army against him out of Hail. He therefore hid his 
host in a pass of the hills just above the plain, and sent 
down a few Bedouins to encamp at the foot of the 
mountains, bidding them call themselves Shammars 
and make a show of being friendly to the enemy. So 
when the army of the Shammars reached the foot of 
the hills, they saw the tents and only one or two 
camels, and Khaled’s Bedouins came out and welcomed 
them, and told them that Khaled was still crossing the 
Nefud, and that if they made haste through the hills 
they might come upon him unawares and at an advan- 
tage as he began to ascend. Thereupon the enemy 


66 


KHALED 


rejoiced and entered the pass in haste, after filling 
their water-skins. 

When they were in the midst of the hills, Khaled 
and his army sprang up from the ambush and fell upon 
them, and utterly destroyed them, taking all their 
horses and camels and arms ; after which he went 
down into the plain and laid waste the country about 
Hail. He took the city as the Shammars had taken 
Riad. For he himself got upon the wall at night, with 
the strongest and the bravest of his followers, and slew 
the guards and opened the gate just before the dawn. 
But there was no Khaled in Hail to rally the soldiers 
and give them heart to turn and make a stand in the 
streets. 

Khaled then entered the palace and took the Sultan 
of Shammar alive, not suffering him to be hurt, for he 
wished to bring him to Riad. This Sultan was a man 
of middle age, having only one eye, and also other- 
wise ill-favoured, besides being cowardly and fat. So 
Khaled ordered that he should be put into a litter, 
and the litter into a cage, and the cage slung between 
two camels. But he commanded that the women of 
the harem should be well treated and brought before 
him, that he might see them, intending to bring back the 
most beautiful of them as presents to his father-in-law. 

“ Surely,” said the men who were with him, “ you 
will keep the fairest for yourself.” 

But Khaled turned angrily upon them. 

“Have I not lately married the most beautiful 
woman in the world?” he asked. “I teir you it is 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


67 


for her sake that I have destroyed the Shammars. 
But the Sultan shall have the best of these women, 
and afterwards the rest of them will be divided 
amongst you by lot.” 

When the women heard that they were to be distrib- 
uted among the men of Nejed they at first made a pre- 
tence of howling and beating their breasts, but they 
rejoiced secretly and soon began to laugh and talk 
among themselves, pointing out to each other the strong- 
est and most richly dressed of Khaled’s followers, as 
though choosing husbands among them. But one of 
them neither wept nor spoke to her companions, but 
stood silently watching Khaled, and when he sat down 
upon a carpet in the chief kahwah of the house, she 
brought him drink in a goblet set with pearls from 
Katar, and sat down at his feet as though she had been 
his wife. But he took little heed of her at first, for he 
was busy with grave matters. 

The other women, seeing what she did, thought that 
she was acting wisely in the hope of gaining Khaled’s 
favour, seeing that he was the chief of their enemies, so 
they, too, came near, and brought water for his hands, 
and perfumes, and sweetmeats, thinking to outdo her. 
But she pushed them away, taking what they brought 
for him, and offering it herself. 

“ Are you better than we ? ” the women said angrily. 
“ Has our lord chosen you for himself, that you will 
not let us come near him ? ” 

Then Khaled noticed her and began to wonder at her 
attention and zeal. 


68 


KHALED 


“ What is your name ? ” he asked. But she did not 
speak. “ Who is she ? ” he inquired of the other 
women. 

“ She is an unbeliever,” they answered contemptu- 
ously. “ And she is proud, for she trusts in her white 
skin and her blue eyes, and her hair which is red with- 
out henna. She thinks she is better than we. Com- 
mand us to uncover our faces, that you may see and 
judge between us.” 

“ Let it be so. Let us see who is the fairest,” said 
Khaled, and he laughed. 

Then the woman who sat at his feet threw aside her 
veil, and all the others did the same. Khaled saw that 
the one was certainly more beautiful than the rest, for 
her skin was as white as milk, and her eyes like the sea 
of Oman when it is blue in winter. She had also long 
hair, plaited in three tresses which came down to her 
feet, red as the locusts when the sun shines upon them 
at evening, and not dyed. 

“ There is a bay mare in a stable of black ones,” 
Khaled said. “ What is the name of the bay mare ? ” 

“ Her name is Aziz, and she is a Christian,” said one 
of the women. 

“Not Aziz — Almasta,” said the beautiful woman in 
an accent which showed that she could not speak Arabic 
fluently. “ Almasta, a Christian.” 

“ She was lately sent as a present to our master by 
the Emir of Basrah,” said one of the others. 

“ He paid a thousand and five hundred sequins for 
her, for she was brought from Georgia,” said another. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


69 


“ But I am a free woman, and myself the daughter of 
an emir.” 

Then all the others began to scream. 

“ It is a lie,” they cried. “ Your father was a white 
slave from Syria.” 

“ You are fools,” retorted the woman who had spoken. 
“You should have said that you were also free women 
and the daughters of emirs. So our lord would have 
treated you with more consideration.” 

The others saw their folly and were silent and drew 
back, but Khaled only smiled. 

“As good mares are bred in the stable as in the 
desert,” he said, and the women laughed with him at 
the jest, for they saw that it pleased him. 

But Almasta was sdent and sat at his feet, looking 
into his face. 

“You must learn to talk in Arabic,” he said, “and 
then you will be able to tell stories of your native 
country to the Sultan, for he loves tales of travel.” 

Almasta smiled and bent her head a little, but she 
did not understand all he said, being but lately come 
into Arabia. 

“ I will go with you,” she answered. 

“Yes. You will go with me to Riad to the Sultan, 
and perhaps he will make you his wife, for he has none 
at present.” 

“ I will go with you,” she repeated, looking at him. 

“ She does not understand you,” said the women, 
laughing at her ignorance of their own tongue. 

“ It is no matter,” said Khaled. “ She will learn in 


TO 


KHALED 


due time. Perhaps it has pleased Allah to send my 
lord the Sultan a wife without a tongue for a blessing 
in his old age.” 

“ I will go with you,” Almasta said again. 

“ She can say nothing else,” jeered the women. 

One of them pulled her by her upper garment, so 
that she looked round. 

“ Can you say this, ‘ My father was a dog and the 
son of dogs ’ ? ” asked the woman. 

But Almasta pushed her angrily away, for she half 
understood. Then the woman grew angry too, and 
shook her fist in Almasta’s face. 

“ If you fight, you shall eat sticks,” said Khaled, and 
then they were all quiet. 

Thus he took possession of the city of Hail, and 
remaining there some time he reduced all the country 
to submission, so that it remained a part of the kingdom 
of Nejed for many years after that. For the power of 
the Shammars was broken, and they could nowhere have 
mustered a thousand men able to bear arms. Khaled 
set a governor in the place of the Sultan, and ordered 
all the laws of the country in the same manner as those 
of Nejed, and after he had been absent from Riad 
nearly two months, he set aside a part of his force to 
remain behind and keep the peace in case there should 
be an outbreak, and with the rest he began to journey 
homeward, taking a great spoil and many captives with 
him. 

During the march most of the women captives rode 
on camels, but a few of the most beautiful were taken 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


71 


in litters lest the fatigues of riding should injure their 
appearance and thus diminish their value. Almasta 
was one of these, and the Sultan of Hail was taken in a 
cage, as has been said, though he was not otherwise ill- 
treated, and received his portion of camel’s meat and 
bread equal to that of the soldiers. 

Khaled sent messengers on fleet mares to Riad to 
give warning of his coming, but he could not himself 
proceed very quickly, because his army was burdened 
with so much spoil ; and as there was now no haste to 
overtake an enemy he journeyed chiefly at night, resting 
during the day wherever there was water, for although 
the summer was far advanced it was still hot. He 
thought continually of Zehowah, by day in his tent 
and by night on the march, for he supposed that she 
would be glad when she heard of the victory and that 
she would now love him, because he had avenged her 
people, and taken Hail, and brought back gold and 
captives, besides other treasures. 

“ She was already pleased with my deeds, before we 
left Riad,” he thought, “ for she asked me how many of 
the Shammars I had slain with my own hand, and at 
the last she wished me to stay with her, most probably 
that I might tell her more about the fight. How much 
the more will she be glad now, since I have killed so 
many more and have brought back treasure, and made 
a whole country subject to her father. Shall not blood 
and gold buy the love of a woman ? ” 

It chanced once during this journey that Khaled 
was sitting at the door of his tent after the sun had 


72 


KHALED 


gone down and before the night march had begun. 
Upon the one side, at a little distance, was the tent of 
the women captives who had been taken from the palace 
in Hail, and upon the other the soldiers had set down 
the cage in which the Sultan of Shammar was carried. 
The men had laid a carpet over the cage to keep the 
sun from the prisoner during the heat of the day, lest 
he should not reach Riad alive as Khaled desired. For 
the Sultan was fat and of a choleric temper. Now the 
soldiers had given him food but had forgotten to bring 
him water, and it was hot under the carpet now that 
the evening had come. But he could lift it up a little 
on one side, and having done so, he began to cry out, 
cursing Khaled and railing at him, not knowing that he 
was so near at hand. 

“ Oh, you whose portion it shall be to broil everlast- 
ingly, and to eat thistles and thorns, and to lie bound 
in red-hot chains as I lie in this cage ! Have you 
brought me out into the desert to die of thirst like 
a lame camel ? Surely your entertainment on the day 
of judgment shall be boiling water and the fruit of 
A1 Zakkam, and whenever you try to get out of hell 
you shall be dragged back again and beaten with iron 
clubs, and your skin shall dissolve, and the boiling 
water shall be poured upon your head ! ” 

In this way the captive cried out, for he was very 
thirsty. But when Khaled saw that no one gave him 
water he called in the darkness to the women who sat 
by their tent. 

“ Fetch water and give the man to drink,” he said. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


73 


One of the women rose quickly and filled a jar at the 
well close by, and took it to the cage. But then the 
railing and cursing broke out afresh, so that Khaled 
wondered what had happened. 

“Who has sent me this unbelieving woman to 
torture me with thirst ? ” cried the prisoner. “ Are you 
not Aziz whom I was about to take for my fourth wife 
on account of your red hair ? But your hair shall be a 
perpetual flame hereafter, burning the bones of your 
head, and your flesh shall be white with heat as iron in 
a forge. If I were still in my kingdom you should eat 
many sticks ! If Allah delivers me from my enemies 
I will cause your skin to be embroidered with gold for 
a trapping to my horse ! ” 

The moon rose at this time, being a little past the 
full, and Khaled looked towards the cage and saw that 
the woman was standing two paces away from the 
Sultan’s outstretched hand. She dabbled in the cool 
water with her fingers so that a plashing sound was 
heard, and then drank herself, and scattered afterwards 
a few drops in the face of the thirsty captive. 

“ It is good water,” she said. “ It is cold.” 

Khaled knew from her broken speech that it was 
Almasta, and he understood that she was torturing the 
prisoner with the sound and sight of the water, and 
with her words. So he rose from his place and went 
to the cage. 

“ Did I not tell you to give him drink ? ” he asked, 
standing before the woman. 

“ Oh, my lord, be merciful,” cried the captive, when 


74 


KHALED 


he saw that Khaled himself was there. “ Be merciful 
and let me drink, for your heart is easily moved to 
pity, and by an act of charity you shall hereafter sit in 
the shade of the tree Sedrat and drink for ever of the 
wine of paradise.” 

‘‘I do not desire wine,” said Khaled. “But you 
shall certainly not thirst. Give him the jar,” he said 
to Almasta. But she shook her head. 

“ He is bad and ugly,” she said. “ If he does not 
drink, he will die.” 

Then Khaled put out his hand to take the jar of 
water, but Almasta threw it violently to the ground, 
and it broke to pieces. Thereupon the captive began 
again to rail and curse at Almasta and to implore 
Khaled with many blessings. 

“You shall drink, for I will bring water myself,” 
said Khaled. He vrent back to his tent and took his 
own jar to the well, and filled it carefully. 

When he turned he saw that Almasta was running 
from his tent towards the cage, with a drawn sword in 
her hand. He then ran also, and being very swift of 
foot, he overtook her just as she thrust at the Sultan 
through the bars. But the sword caught in the folds 
of the soft carpet, and Khaled took it from her hand, 
and thrust her down so that she fell upon her knees. 
Then he gave the prisoner the jar with the water that 
remained in it, for some had been spilt as he ran. 

“ Who has given you the right to kill my captives ? ” 
he asked of Almasta. 

“ Kill me, then ! ” she cried. 


A TALE OF AEABIA 


75 


“ Indeed, if you were not so valuable, I would cut 
off your head,” Khaled answered. “Why do you 
wish me to kill you ? ” 

“ I hate him,” she said, pointing to the captive, who 
was drinking like a thirsty camel. 

“ That is no reason why I should kill you. Go back 
to the tents.” 

But Almasta laid her hand on the sword he held 
and tried to bring it to her own throat. 

“ This is a strange woman,” said Khaled. “ Why 
do you wish to die ? You shall go to Riad and be the 
Sultan’s wife.” 

“No, no!” she cried. “Kill me I Not him, not 
him I ” 

“ Of whom do you speak ? ” 

“ Him I ” she answered, again pointing to the pris- 
oner. “ Is he not the Sultan ? ” 

Khaled laughed aloud, for he saw that she had sup- 
posed she was to be taken to Riad to be made the 
wife of the Sultan of Shammar. Indeed, the other 
women had told her so, to anger her. 

“Not this man,” he said, endeavouring to make her 
understand. “ There is another Sultan at Riad. The 
Sultan of Shammar is one, the Sultan of Nejed an- 
other.” 

“You?” she asked, suddenly springing up. “With 
you?” 

The moon was bright and Khaled saw that her eyes 
gleamed like stars and her face grew warm, and when 
she took his hands her own were cold. 


76 


KHALED 


“No, not I,” he answered. “ I am not the Sultan.” 

But her face became grey in the moonlight, and she 
covered her head with her veil and went slowly back 
to her tent. 

“This woman loves me,” Khaled thought. “And 
as I have not talked much with her, it must be because 
I am strong and have conquered the people among 
whom she was captive. How much the more then, 
will Zehowah love me, for the same reason.” 

So he was light of heart, and soon afterwards he 
commanded everything to be made ready and mounted 
his bay mare for the night march. 


CHAPTER V 


When Khaled was within half a day’s inarch of Riad, 
the Sultan came out to meet him with a great train of 
attendants and courtiers, with cooks bringing food 
and sweetmeats, and a number of musicians. And 
they all encamped together for a short time in the 
shade of the trees, for there were gardens in the place. 
The Sultan embraced Khaled and put upon him a very 
magnificent garment, after which they sat down to- 
gether in a large tent which the Sultan had brought 
with him. When they had eaten and refreshed them- 
selves they began to talk, and Khaled told his father- 
in-law all that he had done, and gave him an account 
of the spoils which he had brought back, commanding 
the most valuable objects to be brought into the tent. 
After this the Sultan desired to see the women 
captives. 

“ There is one especially whom it may please you to 
take for yourself,” said Khaled, and he ordered Al- 
masta to be brought in. 

When the male slaves had left the tent, Almasta 
drew aside her veil. The Sultan looked at her and 
smiled, stroking his beard, for he was much pleased. 

“ Her face is like a pearl and her hair is a setting 
of red gold,” he said. “ Truly she is like the sunrise 
77 


78 


KHALED 


on a fair morning when there are red clouds in the 
east.” 

Alraasta looked attentively at him, and afterwards 
she glanced at Khaled, who could not avoid looking at 
her on account of her beauty. Her face was grave and 
indifferent. Then Khaled told the Sultan how she had 
hated the Sultan of Shammar and had tried to kill him 
on the journey. 

“ This is a dangerous woman, my son,” said the old 
man. But he laughed as he said it, for although ho 
was old, he was no coward. “ She is dangerous, 
indeed. Will you love me, pearl of my souks treas- 
ures?” he inquired of her, still smiling. 

“ You are my lord and my master,” she answered, 
looking down. 

When Khaled heard this he wondered whether his 
father-in-law would get any affection from her. Ze- 
howah had answered in the same words. 

“ By Allah, I will give you such gifts as will make 
you love me,” said the Sultan. “ What shall I give 
you ? ” 

“ His head,” answered Almasta, raising her eyes 
quickly. 

“ The head of the Sultan of Shammar ? ” 

Almasta nodded, and Khaled could see that her lips 
trembled. 

“ A dead man has no companions,” said the Sultan, 
looking at Khaled to see what he would do. But 
Khaled cared little, and said nothing. 

So the Sultan called a slave and ordered the captive’s 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


79 


head to be struck off immediately. Then Almasta 
threw herself upon the carpet on the floor of the tent 
and embraced his feet. 

“ See how easily the love of a woman is got,” Khaled 
thought, “ even by an old man whose beard is grey and 
his limbs heavy.” 

When Almasta rose again, she looked at Khaled 
triumphantly, as though to remind him of the night 
on the journey when he had hindered her from kill- 
ing the captive in his cage. But though he under- 
stood her, he held his peace, for he had cared nothing 
whether the prisoner lived or died after he had deliv- 
ered him over to his father-in-law, and he was consider- 
ing whether he might not please Zehowah in some 
similar manner. This was not easy, however, for he 
was not aware that Zehowah had any private enemy, 
whose head he might offer her. 

After the Sultan had seen the other women and the 
best of the spoils, Khaled begged that he might be 
allowed to ride on into Riad alone, for he saw that the 
Sultan intended to spend the night in feasting where 
he had encamped. The Sultan was so much pleased 
with Almasta and so greatly diverted in examining the 
rich stuffs and the gold and silver vessels and jewels, 
that he let Khaled go, almost without trying to detain 
him, though he made him many speeches praising his 
conduct of the war, and would have loaded him with 
gifts. But Khaled would take nothing with him, say- 
ing that he would only receive his just share with the 
rest ; and the fame of his generosity immediately went 


80 


KHALED 


abroad among the soldiers and the Bedouins through- 
out all the camp. 

“ For,” said Khaled, there is not a fleeter mare than 
mine among all those we have taken ; my sword proves 
to be a good one, for 1 have tried it well ; as for 
women, I am satisfied with one wife ; and besides a 
wife, a sword and a horse, there are no treasures in 
the world which I covet.” 

So Khaled rode away alone into Riad, for he desired 
no company, being busy with his own thoughts. He 
reached the gates at nightfall and went immediately 
to the palace and entered Zehowah’s apartments. He 
found her sitting among her women in her accustomed 
place, listening to the tales of an old woman who sat 
in the midst of the circle. As soon as Zehowah saw 
her husband she sprang up gladly to meet him, as a 
friend would have done. 

“Though it is summer-time, I have pursued the 
enemy,” said Khaled. “ And though the sun was hot, 
I have got the victory and brought home the spoil.” 

He said this remembering how she had tried to hin- 
der him from going. Then he gave her his sword and 
he sat down with her, while the women brought food 
and drink, for he was weary, and hungry and thirsty. 
The women also brought their musical instruments and 
began to sing songs in praise of Khaled’s deeds ; but 
after a time he sent them all away and remained alone 
with Zehowah. 

“O Zehowah,” he said, “you are my law and my 
rule. You are my speech and my occupation. You 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


81 


are my Kebla to which I turn in prayer. For the love 
of you I have got the victory over many foes. And 
yet I see that your cheek is cold and the light of your 
eyes is undisturbed. Have you no other enemies for 
me to destroy, or have you no secret foe whose head 
would be a pleasant gift ? ” 

Zehowah laughed, as she fanned him with a palm leaf. 

“ Do you still thirst for war, Khaled ? ” she asked. 
“ Truly you have swallowed up all our enemies as the 
dry sand swallows up water. Where shall I find ene- 
mies enough for you to slay? You went out in pride 
and you have returned in glory. Are you not yet sat- 
isfied ? And as for any secret foe, if I have any I do 
not know him. Rest, therefore ; eat and drink and 
spend your days in peace.” 

“ I care little for either food or drink,” Khaled 
answered, “and I need little rest.” 

“Will nothing but war please you? Must you over- 
come Egypt and make Syria pay tribute as far as 
Damascus before you will rest?” 

“ I will conquer the whole world for you, if you wish 
it,” said Khaled. 

“ What should I do with the world ? ” asked Zehowah. 
“Have I not treasures and garments enough and to 
spare, besides the spoil you have now brought home ? 
And besides, if you would conquer the world you must 
needs make war upon true believers, amongst whom we 
do not count the people of Shammar. Be satisfied, 
therefore, and rest in peace.” 

“ How shall I be satisfied until I have kindled the 


o 


82 


KHALED 


light in Zehowah’s eyes at my coming, and until I feel 
that her hand is cold and trembles when I take it in 
mine?” 

“ Do I say to my eyes, ‘ be dull ’ — or to my hand, ‘ do 
not tremble ’ ? ” Zehowah asked. “ Is this, which you 
ask of me, something I can command at will, as I 
can a smile or a word ? If it is, teach me and I will 
learn. But if not, why do you expect of me what I 
cannot do ? Can a camel gallop like a horse, or a horse 
trot like a camel, or bear great burdens through the 
desert ? Have you come back from a great war only 
to talk of this something which you call love, which is 
yours and not mine, which you feel and I cannot feel, 
which you cannot explain nor describe, and which, after 
all, is but a whim of the fancy, as one man loves sour 
drink and another sweet ? ” 

“ Do you think that love is nothing but a whim of 
the fancy ? ” asked Khaled, bitterly. 

“What else can it be? Would you love me if you 
were blind ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And if you were deaf ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“And if you could not touch my face with your 
hands, nor kiss me with your lips ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Zehowah laughed. 

“ Then love is indeed a fancy. For if you could not 
see me, nor touch me, nor hear me, what would remain 
to you but an empty thought ! ” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


83 


“ Have I seen you, or touched you, or heard your 
voice for these two months and a half ? ” asked Khaled. 
“Yet I have loved you as much during all that 
time.” 

“You mean that you have thought of me, as I have 
thought of you, by the memory of what was not fancy, 
but reality. W ould you dispute with me, Khaled ?* 
You will find me subtle.” 

“There is more wit in my arm than in my head,” 
Khaled answered, “and it is not easy for a man to 
persuade a woman.” 

“ It is very easy, provided that the man have reason 
on his side. But where are the treasures you have 
brought back, the slaves and the rich spoils ? I would 
gladly see some of them, for the messengers you sent 
told great tales of the riches of Had.” 

“ To-morrow they will be brought into the city. 
Your father has remained feasting in the gardens 
towards Dereyiyah, and the whole army with him. I 
rode hither alone.” 

“ Why did you not remain too ? ” 

“ Because that whim of the fancy which I call love 
brought me back,” Khaled answered. 

“ Then I am glad you love me,” said Zehowah. “ For 
I am glad you came quickly.” 

“ Are you truly glad ? ” 

“ I was very tired of my women,” she answered. “ I 
am sorry you have brought nothing with you. Are 
there any among the captives who are beautiful ? ” 

“There is one, a present sent lately to the Sultan 


84 


KHALED 


of Shammar. She is very beautiful, and unlike all the 
rest. Your father is much pleased with her, and will 
perhaps marry her.” 

“ Of what kind is her beauty ? ” 

“ She is as white as milk, her eyes are twin sapphires, 
her mouth is a rose, her hair is like gold reddened in 
fire.” 

Zehowah was silent for a while, and twisted a string 
of musk-beads round her fingers. 

“The others are all Arabian women,” Khaled said at 
last. 

“ Why did you not keep the beautiful one for your- 
self?” asked Zehowah, suddenly throwing aside her 
beads and looking at him curiously. “ Surely you, 
who have borne the brunt of the war, might have 
chosen for yourself what pleased you best.” 

Khaled looked at her in great astonishment. 

“Have I not married Zehowah? Would you have 
me take another wife ? ” 

“ Why not ? Is it not lawful for a man to take four 
wives at one time ? And this woman might have loved 
you, as you desire to be loved.” 

“ Would it be nothing to you, if I took her ? ” 

“Nothing. I am the King’s daughter. I shall 
always be first in the house. I say, she might love 
you. Then you would be satisfied.” 

“ Zehowah, Zehowah ! ” cried Khaled. “ Is love a 
piece of gold, that it matters not whence it be, so long 
as a man has it in his own possession ? Or is it wood 
of the ’Ood tree that one may buy it and bring it home 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


85 


and make the whole house fragrant with it ? Is a 
man’s heart like his belly, which is alike satisfied with 
different kinds of food ? ” 

“ He who eats, knows by the taste whether he eats 
Persian mutton, or barley bread, or only broiled locusts. 
But a man who believes that he is loved, knows that 
he is loved, so far as knowing is possible, and must be 
satisfied, if to be loved is what he desires.” 

“ That may he true. But he who desires bread is 
not satisfied with locusts. It is your love which I 
would have. Not the love of another.” 

“ You are like a man who hopes to get by argument 
a sum of money from one who has nothing,” said 
Zehowah, smiling at him. “ Can you make gold grow 
in the purse of a beggar? Or can you cause a ghada 
bush to bear dates by reasoning with it ? Your heart 
is a palm tree, but mine is a ghada bush.” 

“Yet an angel may touch the ghada and it will bear 
fruit,” answered Khaled, for he remembered how the 
angel had turned dry leaves into rich garments for him 
to wear. 

“Doubtless Allah can do all things. But where is 
the angel ? Hear me, Khaled, for I speak very reason- 
ably, as a wife should speak to her husband, who is her 
lord and master. My lord is not satisfied with me and 
desires something of me which is not mine to give. 
Let him take another wife beside me. I have given 
my lord a kingdom and great riches and power. Let 
him take another wife now, who will give him this 
fancy of his thoughts for which he yearns, though she 


86 


KHALED 


have no other possessions. In this way my lord will 
be satisfied.” 

Khaled listened sadly to what Zehowah said, and he 
began to despair, for he was not subtle in argument nor 
eloquent in speech. The reason of this was plain. In 
the days when he had been one of the genii he had 
wandered over the whole earth and had heard the elo- 
quence of all nations and the arguments of all philoso- 
phers, learning therefrom that deeds are no part of 
words, and that they who would be believed must 
speak little and do much. But the genii possess no 
insight into the hearts of women. 

Khaled reflected also that the length of life granted 
him was uncertain, and that he had already spent two 
months and a half at a distance from Zehowah in 
accomplishing the conquest whereby he had hoped to 
win her love. But since this had utterly failed, he 
cast about in his mind for some new deed to do, which 
could be done without leaving her even for a short 
time. But he was troubled by her indifference, and 
most of all by her proposing that he should take 
another wife. As he thought of this, he was filled 
with horror, and he understood that he loved Zehowah 
more than he had supposed, since he could not bear to 
think of setting another woman beside her. 

Then his face became very dark and his eyes were 
like camp fires far oflp in the desert, and he took 
Zehowah’s wrist in his hand, holding it tightly as 
though he would not let it go. As his heart grew 
hot in his breast, words came to his lips unawares like 


A TALE OF AKABIA 


87 


the speech of a man in a dream, and he heard his own 
voice as it were from a distance. 

“ I will not take another,” he said. “ What is the 
love of any other woman to me ? It is as dust in the 
throat of a man thirsting for water. Show me a 
woman who loves me. Her face shall be but a cold 
mirror in which the image of a fire is reflected without 
warmth, her soft words shall be to me as the screaming 
of a parrot, her touch a thorn and her lips ashes. What 
is it to me if all the women of the world love me ? Kin- 
dle a fire and burn them before me, for I care not. Let 
them perish all together, for I shall not know that they 
are gone. I love you and not another. Shall it profit 
a man to fill his mouth with dust, though it be the dust 
of gold mingled with precious stones, when he desires 
water ? Or shall he be warmed in winter by the reflec- 
tion of a fire in a mirror? By Allah ! I want neither the 
wealth of Hail, nor a wife with red hair. Let them take 
gold who do not ask for love. I want but one thing, and 
Zehowah alone can give it to me. Wallah ! My heart 
burns. But I would give it to be burned for ever in 
hell if I might get your love now. This I ask. This 
only I desire. For this I will suffer and for this I am 
ready to die before my time.” 

Zehowah was silent, looking at him with wonder, and 
yet not altogether pleased. She saw that she could not 
understand him, though she did as well as she could. 

“Has he not all that the heart of man can desire?” 
she thought. “ Am I not young and beautiful, and pos- 
sessed of many jewels and treasures ? Have I not given 


88 


KHALED 


him wealth and power, and has he not with his own 
hand got the victory over his enemies and mine? And 
yet he is not satisfied. Surely, he is too hard to please.” 

But he, reading her thoughts from her face, continued 
in his speech. 

‘^What is all the happiness in the world without 
love? ” he asked. “It is like a banquet in which many 
rich viands are served, but the guests cannot eat them 
because there is no salt in any of them. And what is 
a beautiful woman without love ? She is like a garden 
in which there are all kinds of rare flowers, and much 
grass, and deep shade, but in which a man cannot live, 
because nothing grows there which he can eat when he 
is hungry.” 

“Truly,” said Zehowah, “that is what you will make 
of your life. For there is a garden called Irem, planted 
in a secret place of the deserts about Aden, by Sheddad 
the son of Ad, who desired to outdo the gardens of 
paradise, and was destroyed for his impiety with all his 
people, by the hand of Allah. But a certain man 
named Abdullah ibn Kelabah was searching in the 
desert for a lost camel, and came unawares upon this 
place. There were fruits and water there and all that 
a man could wish for, and Abdullah dwelt in peace 
and plenty, praising Allah. Then on a certain day he 
desired to eat an onion, and finding none anywhere, 
he went out, intending to obtain one, and having eaten 
it, to return immediately. But though he searched the 
desert many months he was never able to find the 
garden again. Wherefore it is said that Abdullah ibn 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


89 


Kelabah lost the earthly paradise of Irem for a mouth- 
ful of onion.” 

“How can you understand me if you do not love 
me?” asked Khaled. “Love has its OAvn language, and 
when two love they understand each the other’s words. 
But when the one loves and the other loves not, they 
are strangers, though they be man and wife ; or they 
are like Persians and Arabians not understanding 
either the other’s speech, or that if the wife cries 
‘father,’ her husband will bring her a cup of water, 
supposing her to be thirsty. For those who would 
speak one language must be of one heart, and they who 
would be of one heart must love each other.” 

Then Zehowah sighed and leaned against the cush- 
ions by the wall and drew her hand away from Khaled. 

“ What is it? ” she asked in a low voice. “ What is 
it you would have ? ” But though she had already 
asked the question many times she found no answer, 
and none that he was able to give could enlighten her 
darkness. 

“ It is the spark that kindles the flame,” Khaled said, 
and he pointed to the lights that hung in the room. 
“Your beauty is like that of a cunningly designed 
lamp, inlaid with gold and silver and covered with rich 
ornament, which is seen by day. But there is no light 
within, and it is cold, though it be full of oil and the 
wick be ready.” 

Zehowah turned towards him somewhat impatiently. 

“ And you are as one who would kindle the flame 
with words, having no torch,” she answered. 


90 


KHALED 


“ Have I not done deeds also ? ” asked Khaled. 
“ Or have I spoken much, that you should reproach 
me ? Surely I have slain more of your enemies than 
I have spoken words to you to-night.” 

“ But have I asked for an offering of blood, or a 
marriage dower of dead bodies ? ” 

Khaled was silent, for he was bitterly disappointed, 
and as his eyes fell upon the sword which hung on the 
wall, he felt that he could almost have taken it and 
made an end of Zehowah for very anger that she 
would not love him. Had he not gone out for her 
into the raging heat of summer, and borne the burden 
of a great war, and destroyed a nation and taken a 
city ? Moreover, if neither words nor deeds could 
gain her love, what means remained to him to try ? 

All through the night Khaled pondered, calling up 
all that he had seen in the world in former times, until 
he fell asleep at last, wearied in heart. 

Very early in the morning one of Zeho wall’s women 
came and stood by his bed and waked him. He could 
see that her face was pale in the dawn, her limbs trem- 
bled and her voice was uncertain. 

“ Arise, my lord ! ” she said. “ A messenger has 
come from the army with evil news, and stands wait- 
ing in the court.” 

Khaled sprang up, and Zehowah awoke also. 

“ What is this message ? ” he asked hastily. 

But the woman threw herself upon the floor and 
covered her face, as though begging forgiveness because 
she brought evil tidings. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


91 


“ Speak ! ” said Zehowali. “ What is it ? ” 

“ Our lord the Sultan is dead ! ” cried the woman, 
and she broke out into weeping and crying and would 
say nothing more. 

But when Zehowah heard that her father was dead, 
she sat down upon the floor and beat her breast and 
tore her hair, and wailed and wept, while all the women 
of the harem came and gathered round her and joined 
in her mourning, so that the whole palace was filled 
with the noise of their lamentations. 

Khaled went out into the court and questioned the 
messenger, who told him that the Sultan had held a 
great feast in the evening in the gardens of Dereyiyah, 
having with him the woman Almasta and the other 
captive women, and being served by black slaves. 
But, suddenly, in the night, when most of the soldiers 
were already asleep, there had been a great cry, and 
the slaves and women had come running from the tent, 
crying that the Sultan was dead. This was true, and 
the Jewish physician who had gone out with his master 
declared that he had died from an access of humours to 
the head, brought on by a surfeit of sweetmeats, there 
being at the time an evil conjunction of Zoharah and 
A1 Marech in square aspect to the moon and in the house 
of death. 

Khaled therefore mounted his bay mare and rode 
quickly out to Dereyiyah, where he found that the 
news was true, and the women were already preparing 
the Sultan’s body for burial. Having ordered the 
mourning, and commanded the army to prepare for 


92 


KHALED 


the return to the city, Khaled set out with the funeral 
procession ; and when he reached the walls of Riad he 
turned to the left and passed round to the north-east 
side of the city where the burial-ground is situated. 
Here he laid the body of his father-in-law in the tomb 
which the latter had prepared for himself during his 
lifetime, and afterwards, dismissing the mourners, he 
went back into the city to the palace. 

After the days of mourning were accomplished, the 
will of the Sultan was made known, though indeed the 
people were well acquainted with it already. By his 
will Khaled succeeded to the sovereignty of the king- 
dom of Nejed and to all the riches and treasures which 
the Sultan had accumulated during his lifetime. But 
the people received the announcement with acclama- 
tions and much joy, followed by a great feasting, for 
which innumerable camels were slain. Khaled also 
called all the chief officers and courtiers to a banquet 
and addressed them in a few words, according to his 
manner. 

“Men of Nejed,” he said, “it has pleased Allah to 
remove to the companionship of the faithful our master 
the Sultan, my revered father-in-law, upon whom be 
peace, and to set me up among you as King in his 
stead, being the husband of his only daughter, which 
you all know. As for the past, you know me ; but if 
I have wronged any man let him declare it and I will 
make reparation. And if not, let none complain here- 
after. But as for the future I will be a just ruler so 
long as I live, and will lead the men of Nejed to war. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


93 


when there is war, and will divide the spoil fairly ; 
and in peace I will not oppress the people with taxes 
nor change the just and good laws of the kingdom. 
And now the feast is prepared. Sit down cheerfully, 
and may Allah give us both the appetite to enjoy and 
the strength to digest all the good things which shall 
be set before us.” 

But Khaled himself ate sparingly, for his heart was 
heavy, and when they had feasted and drunk treng 
juice and heard music, he retired to the harem, where 
he found Zehowah sitting with Almasta, the Georgian 
woman, there being no other women present in the 
room. He was surprised when he saw Almasta, though 
he knew that the captive women had been lodged 
in the palace, the distribution of the spoil from the 
war having been put off by the mourning for the 
Sultan. 

When Almasta heard him enter, she looked up 
quickly and a bright colour rose in her face, as when 
the juice of a pomegranate is poured into milk, and 
disappeared again as the false dawn before morning, 
leaving no trace.. Khaled sat down. 

“ Is not this the woman of whom you spoke ? ” 
Zehowah asked. “ I knew her from the rest by her 
red hair.” 

“This is the woman. Your father would have 
taken her for his wife. But Allah has disposed other- 
wise.” 

“She is beautiful. She is worthy to be a king’s 
wife,” said Zehowah. 


94 


KHALED 


“ The Sultan ? ” asked Almasta, for she hardly 
understood. Her face turned as white as bone bleached 
by the sun, and her fingers trembled, while her eyes 
were cast down. 

Zehowah looked at Khaled and laughed. 

“ See how she trembles and turns pale before you,” 
she said. “ And a little while ago her face was red. 
You have found a torch wherewith to kindle this lamp, 
and a breath that can extinguish it.” 

“ I do not know,” Khaled answered. But he looked 
attentively at Almasta and remained silent for some 
time. “ It is now necessary to divide the spoils of the 
war,” he said at last, “and to bestow such of these 
women as you do not wish to keep upon the most 
deserving of the officers.” 

“ My lord will surely take the fairest for himself, 
since she loves him,” said Zehowah, again laughing, 
but somewhat bitterly. 

“ May my tongue be cloven and my eyes be put out, 
njay my hands wither at the wrists and my feet fall 
from my ankles, if I ever take any wife but you,” said 
Khaled. “ Yallah ! So be it.” 

When Zehowah heard him say this, even while 
Almasta’s face was unveiled before him, she under- 
stood that he was greatly in earnest. 

“Let me keep her for my handmaid,” she said at 
last. 

“ Is she mine that you need ask me ? But it will be 
wiser to give her to Abdul Kerim, the sheikh of the 
horsemen. I have promised that the spoils should be 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


95 


fairly divided, and though few have seen this woman 
many have heard of her beauty. And besides, she 
would weary you, for she cannot talk in Arabian, nor 
does she seem quick to learn. Abdul Kerim has the 
first right, since Allah has removed your father, upon 
whom be peace.” 

“Your words are my laws,” answered Zehowah, 
obediently. “ And, indeed, it may be that you are 
right, for I believe she can neither dance nor sing, nor 
play upon any musical instrument. She would cer- 
tainly weary me after a time, as you say. Give her 
therefore to Abdul Kerim for his share.” 

They then made Almasta understand that she was 
to be given to the sheikh of the horsemen ; but when 
she had understood she shook her head and smiled, 
though at first she said nothing, so that Khaled and 
Zehowah wondered whether she had comprehended 
what they had told her. 

“ Do you understand what we have told you ? ” 
asked Zehowah, who was diverted by her ignorance of 
the Arabic language. 

“I understand.” 

“And are you not pleased that you are to be the 
wife of Abdul Kerim, who is a rich man and still 
young ? ” 

“ I was to be the Sultan’s wife,” said Almasta, with 
difficulty, looking at Khaled. “ You told me so.” 

“ The Sultan is dead,” Khaled answered. 

“ Who is the Sultan now? ” she asked. 

“ Khaled is the Sultan,” said Zehowah. 


96 


KHALBD 


“ You said that I should be the Sultan’s wife,” 
Almasta repeated. 

“ Doubtless I said so,” Khaled replied. “ But Allah 
has ordered it otherwise.” 

Almasta again smiled and shook her head. 


CHAPTER VI 


On the following day Khaled made a division of the 
spoils, and gave Almasta to Abdul Kerim, enjoining 
upon him to marry her, since he had but two wives 
and could do so lawfully. The sheikh of the horsemen 
was glad, for he had heard much of Almasta’s beauty, 
and he loved fair women, being of a fierce temper 
and not more than forty years old. So he called his 
friends to the marriage feast that same day, and 
Zehowah sent Almasta in a litter to his harem, giving 
her also numerous rich garments by way of a dower, 
but which in fact were due to Abdul Kerim as his 
share of the booty. So the men feasted, with music, 
until the evening, when the bridegroom retired to 
the harem and the Kadi came and read the contract ; 
after which Abdul Kerim sat down while Almasta 
was brought before him in various dresses, one after 
the other, as is customary. 

When the women were all gone away, Abdul Kerim 
began to talk to his wife, but she only laughed and 
said the few words she knew, not knowing what he 
said, and presently she began to sing to him in a low 
voice, in her own language. Her voice was very clear 
and quite different from that of the Arabian women 
whom Abdul had heard, and the tones vibrated with 


98 


KHALED 


great passion and sweetness, so that he was enchanted 
and listened, as in a dream, while his head rested 
against Almasta’s knee. She continued to sing in such 
a manner that his soul was transported with delight ; 
and at last, as the sound soothed him, he fell into a 
gentle sleep. 

Almasta, still singing softly, loosened his vest, touch- 
ing him so gently that he did not wake. She then 
drew out of one of the three tresses of her hair a fine 
steel needle, extremely long and sharp, having at one 
end a small wooden ball for a handle, and while she 
sang, she thrust it very quickly into his breast to its 
full length, so that it pierced his heart and he died 
instantly. But she continued to sing, lest any of the 
women should be listening from a distance. Presently 
she withdrew the needle so slowly that not a drop of 
blood follow'ed it, and having made it pass thrice 
through the carpet she restored it to her hair, after 
which she fastened the dead man’s vest again, so that 
nothing was disarranged. She sang on after this for 
some time, and then after a short silence she sprang 
up from the couch, uttering loud screams and lamen- 
tations and beating her breast violently. 

The women of the harem came in quickly, and when 
they saw that their master was dead, they sat down 
with Almasta and wept with her, for as he lay dead 
there was no mark of any violence nor any sign where- 
by it could be told that he had not died naturally. 

When Khaled heard that Abdul Kerim was dead, 
he was much grieved at heart, for the man had been 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


99 


brave and had been often at his right hand in battle. 
But the news being brought to him at dawn when he 
awoke, he immediately sent the Jewish physician of 
the court to ascertain if possible the cause of the 
sudden death. The physician made careful examina- 
tion of the body, and having purified himself returned 
to K haled to give an account. 

“ I have executed my lord’s orders with scrupulous 
exactness,” he said, “ and I find that without doubt 
the sheikh of the horsemen died suddenly by an access 
of humours to the heart, the sun being at that time in 
the Nadir, for he died about midnight, and being more- 
over in evil conjunction with the Dragon’s Tail in the 
Heart of the Lion, and not yet far from the square 
aspect of A1 Marech which caused the death of his 
majesty the late Sultan, upon whom be peace.” 

But Khaled was thoughtful, for he reflected that 
this was the second time that a man had died suddenly 
when he was about to be Almasta’s husband, and he 
remembered, how she had attempted to kill the Sultan 
of Hail, and had ultimately brought about his death. 

“Have you examined the dead man as minutely as 
you have observed the stars ? ” he inquired. “ Is there 
no mark of violence upon him, nor of poison, nor of 
strangling ? ” 

“ There is no mark. By Allah ! I speak truth. 
My lord may see for himself, for the man is not yet 
buried.” 

“ Am I a jackal, that I should sniff at dead bodies ? ” 
asked Khaled. “Go in peace.” 


100 


KHALED 


The physician withdrew, for he saw that Khaled 
was displeased, and he was himself as much surprised 
as any one by the death of Abdul Kerim, a man lean 
and strong, not given to surfeiting and in the prime 
of health. 

“Min Allah!” he said as he departed. “We are 
in the hand of the Lord, who knoweth our rising up 
and our lying down. It is possible that if I had seen 
this man at the moment of death, or a little before, I 
might have discovered the nature of his disease, for I 
could have talked with him and questioned him.” 

But Khaled went in and talked with Zehowah. 
She was greatly astonished when she heard that Al- 
masta’s husband was dead, but she was satisfied with 
the answer of the Jewish physician, who enjoyed great 
reputation and was believed to be at that time the 
wisest man in Arabia. 

“ Give her back to me, to be one of my women,” 
said she. “ It is not written that she should marry a 
man of Nejed, unless you will take her yourself.” 

But Khaled bent his brow angrily and his eyes 
glowed like the coals of a camp fire which is almost 
extinguished, when the night wind blows suddenly over 
the ashes. 

“ I have spoken,” he said. 

“ And I have heard,” she answered. “ Let there be 
an end. But give me this woman to divert me with 
her broken speech.” 

“ I fear she will do you an injury of which you may 
not live,” said Khaled. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


101 


“ What injury can she do me ? ” asked Zehowah in 
astonishment, not understanding him. 

“ She asked of your father the head of the Sultan of 
Hail, whom she hated. And your father gave it to 
her.” 

“ Peace be upon him ! ” exclaimed Zehowah, piously. 

“ Upon him peace. And when he would have mar- 
ried her, he died suddenly at the feasting. And now 
this Abdul Kerim, who was to have been her husband, 
is dead also, without sign, in the night, as a man stung 
by a serpent in his sleep. These are strange doings.” 

“ If you think she has done evil, let her be put to 
death,” said Zehowah. “ But the physician found no 
mark upon Abdul Kerim. By the hand of Allah he 
was taken.” 

“ Doubtless his fate was about his neck. But it is 
strange.” 

Zehowah looked at Khaled in silence, but presently 
she smiled and laid her hand upon his. 

“ This woman loves you with her whole soul,” she 
said. “You think that she has slain Abdul Kerim by 
secret arts, in the hope that she may marry you.” 

“ And your father also.” 

Then they were both silent, and Zehowah covered 
her face, since she could not prevent tears from falling 
when she thought of her father, whom she had loved. 

“If this be so,” she said, after a long time, “let the 
woman die immediately.” 

“ It is necessary to be just,” Khaled answered. “ I 
will put no one to death without witnesses, not even a 


102 


KHALED 


captive woman, who is certainly an unbeliever at heart. 
Has any one seen her do these deeds, or does any one 
know by what means a man may be slain in his sleep, 
or at a feast, so that no mark is left upon his body ? 
At Dereyiyah your father was alone with her in the 
inner part of the tent, and she was singing to him that 
he might sleep. For I have made inquiry. And when 
Abdul Kerim died he was also alone with her. I cannot 
understand these things. But you are a woman and 
subtle. It may be that you can see what is too dark 
for me.” 

“ It may be. Therefore give her back to me, and I 
will lay a trap for her, so that she will betray herself if 
she has really done evil. And when we have convicted 
her by her own words she shall die.” 

“ Are you not afraid, Zehowah ? ” 

“ Can I change my destiny ? If my hour is come, I 
shall die of a fever, or of a cold, whether she be with 
me or not. But if my years are not full, she cannot 
hurt me.” 

“ This is undoubtedly true,” answered Khaled, who 
could find nothing to say. “ But I will first question 
the woman myself.” 

So he sent slaves with a litter to bring Almasta from 
the house of mourning to the palace, and when she was 
come he sent out all the other women and remained 
alone with her and Zehowah, making her sit down 
before him so that he could see her face. Her cheeks 
were pale, for she had not slept, having been oecupied 
in weeping and lamentation during the whole night. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


103 


and her eyes moved restlessly as those of a person dis- 
tracted with grief. 

Khaled then drew his sword and laid it across his 
feet as he sat and looked fixedly at Almasta. 

“ If you do not sj^eak the truth,” he said, “ I will cut 
off your head with my own hand. Allah is witness.” 

When Almasta saw the drawn sword, her face grew 
whiter than before, and for some moments she seemed 
not able to breathe. But suddenly she began to beat 
her breast, and broke out into loud wailings, rocking 
herself to and fro as she sat on the carpet. 

“ My husband is dead ! ” she cried. “ He was young; 
he was beautiful ! He is dead ! Wah ! Wah ! my 
husband is dead ! Kill me too ! ” 

Khaled looked at Zehowah, but she said nothing, 
though she watched Almasta attentively. Then Khaled 
spoke to the woman again. 

“ JMake an end of lamenting for the present,” he said. 

“ It has pleased Allah to take your husband to the 
fellowship of the faithful. Peace be upon him. Tell 
us in what manner he died, and what words he spoke 
when he felt his end approaching, for he was my good 
friend and I wish to know all.” 

Almasta either did not understand or made a pre- 
tence of not understanding, but when she heard Kha- 
led’s words she ceased from wailing and sobbed silently, 
beating her breast from time to time. 

“ How did he die ? ” Khaled asked in a stern voice. 

“ He was asleep. He died,” replied Almasta, in broken 
tones. 


104 


KHALED 


“You will get no other answer,” said Zehowah. 
“ She cannot speak our tongue.” 

“ Is there no woman among them all who can talk 
this woman’s language ? ” asked Khaled with impa- 
tience, for he saw how useless it was to question her. 

“ There is no one. I have inquired. Leave her with 
me, and if there is anything to be known, I will try to 
find it out.” 

So Khaled went away and Zehowah endeavoured to 
soothe Almasta and make her talk in her broken words. 
But the woman made as though she would not be com- 
forted, and went and sat apart upon the stone floor 
where there was no carpet, rocking to and fro, and wail- 
ing in a low voice. Zehowah understood that whatever 
the truth might be Almasta was determined to express 
her sorrow in the customary way, and that it would be 
better to leave her alone. 

For seven days she sat thus apart, covering her head 
and mourning, and refusing to speak with any one, so 
that all the women supposed her to be indeed distracted 
with grief at the death of Abdul Kerim. And each 
day Khaled inquired of his wife whether she had yet 
learned anything, and received the same answer. But 
in the meantime he was occupied with his own thoughts 
as well as with the affairs of the kingdom, though the 
latter were as nothing in his mind compared with the 
workings of his heart when he thought of Zehowah. 

It chanced one evening that Khaled was riding 
among the gardens without the city, attended only by 
a few horsemen, for he was simple in all his ways and 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


105 


liked little to have a great throng of attendants about 
him. So he rode alone, while the horsemen followed 
at a distance. 

“ W as ever a man, or an angel, so placed in the world 
as I am placed ? ” he thought. “ How much better 
would it have been had I never seen Zehowah, and if I 
had never slain the Indian prince. For I should still 
have been with my fellows, the genii, from whom I am 
now cut off, and at least I should have lived until the 
day of the resurrection. But now my horse may 
stumble and fall, and my neck may be broken, and 
there is no hereafter. Or I may die in my sleep, or be 
killed in my sleep, and there will be no resurrection for 
me, nor any more life, anywhere in earth or heaven. 
For Zehowah will never love me. Was ever a man so 
placed ? And I am ashamed to complain to her any 
more, for she is a good wife, obedient and careful of 
my wants, and beautiful as the moon at the full, rising 
amidst palm trees, besides being very wise and subtle. 
How can I complain ? Has she not given me herself, 
whom I desired, and a great kingdom, which, indeed, I 
did not desire, but which no man can despise as a gift ? 
Yet I am burned up within, and my heart is melting as 
a piece of frankincense laid upon coals in an empty 
chamber, when no man cares for its sweet savour. 
Surely, I am the most wretched of mankind. Oh, that 
the angel who made garments for me of a ghada bush, 
and a bay mare of a locust, would come down and lay 
his hand upon Zehowah’s breast and make a living 
heart of the stone which Allah has set in its place I ” 


106 


KHALED 


So he rode slowly on, reasoning as he had often 
reasoned before, and reaching the same conclusion in 
all his argument, which availed him nothing. But sud- 
denly, as the sun went down, a new thought entered 
his mind and gave him a little hope. 

“ The sun is gone down,” he said to himself. “ But 
Allah has not destroyed the sun. It will rise in the 
east to-morrow when the white cock crows in the first 
heaven. Many things have being, which the sight of 
man cannot see. It may be that although I see no 
signs of love in the heaven of Zehowah’s eyes, yet love 
is already there and will before long rise as the sun and 
illuminate my darkness. For I am not subtle as the 
evil genii are, but I must see very clearly before I am 
able to distinguish.” 

He rode back into the city, planning how he might 
surprise Zehowah and obtain from her unawares some 
proof that she indeed loved him. To this end he 
entered the palace by a secret gate, covering his gar- 
ments with his aba, and his head with the kefiyeh he 
wore, in order to disguise himself from the slaves and 
the soldiers whom he met on his way to the harem. 
He passed on towards Zehowah’s apartment by an un- 
lighted passage not generally used, and hid himself in 
a niche of the wall close to the open door, from which 
he could see all that happened, and hear what was said. 

Zehowah was seated in her accustomed place and 
Almasta was beside her. Khaled could watch their 
faces by the light of the hanging lamps, as the two 
women talked together. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


107 


“You must put aside all mourning now,” Zehowah 
was saying. “For I will find another husband for 
you.” 

“Another husband?” Almasta smiled and shook 
her head. 

“ Yes, there are other goodly men in Riad, though 
Abdul Kerim was of the goodliest, as all say who knew 
him. He was the Sultan’s friend, but he was more 
soldier than courtier. He deserved a better death.” 

“Abdul Kerim died in peace. He was asleep.” 
Almasta smiled still, but more sadly, and her eyes were 
cast down. 

“ He died in peace,” Zehowah repeated, watching her 
narrowly. “ But it is better to die in battle by the 
enemy’s hand. Such a man, falling in the front of the 
fight for the true faith, enters immediately into para- 
dise, to dwell for ever under the perpetual shade of 
the tree Sedrat, and neither blackness nor shame shall 
cover his face. There the rivers flow with milk and 
with clarified honey, and he shall rest on a couch cov- 
ered with thick silk embroidered with gold, and shall 
possess seventy beautiful virgins whose eyes are 
blacker than mine and their skin whiter than yours, 
having colour like rubies and pearls, and their voices 
like the song of nightingales in Ajjem, of which travel- 
lers tell. These are the rewards of the true believer as 
set forth in A1 Koran by our Prophet, upon whom 
peace. A man slain in battle for the faith enters 
directly into the possession of all this, but unbelievers 
shall be taken by the forelock and the heels and cast 


108 


KHALED 


into hell, to drink boiling molten brass, as a thirsty 
camel drinks clear water.” 

Alraasta understood very little of what Zehowah 
said, but she smiled, nevertheless, catching the mean- 
ing of some of the words. 

“The Sultan Khaled loves black eyes,” she said. 
“He will go to paradise.” 

“ Doubtless, he will quench his thirst in the incor- 
ruptible milk of heavenly rivers,” Zehowah replied. 
“ He is the chief of the brave, the light of the faith and 
the burning torch of righteousness. Otherwise Allah 
would not have chosen him to rule. But I spoke of 
Abdul Kerim.” 

“ He died in peace,” said Almasta the second time, 
and again looking down. 

“I do not know how he died,” Zehowah answered, 
looking steadily at the woman’s face. “ It was a great 
misfortune for you. Do you understand? I am very 
sorry for you. You would have been happy with Abdul 
Kerim.” 

“ I mourn for him,” Almasta said, not raising her 
eyes. 

“ It is natural and right. Doubtless you loved him 
as soon as you saw him.” 

Almasta glanced quickly at Zehowah, as though 
suspecting a hidden meaning in the words, and for a 
moment each of the women looked into the other’s 
eyes, but Zehowah saw nothing. For a wise man has 
truly said that one may see into the depths of black 
eyes as into a deep well, but that blue e^^es are like 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


109 


the sea of Oman in winter, sparkling in the sun as a 
plain of blue sand, but underneath more unfathomable 
than the desert. 

Almasta was too wise and deceitful to let the silence 
last. So when she had looked at Zehowah and under- 
stood, she smiled somewhat sorrowfully and spoke. 

“I could have loved him,” she said. “I desire no 
husband now.” 

“ That is not true,” Zehowah answered quickly. 
“ You wish to marry Khaled, and that is the reason 
why you killed Abdul Kerim.” 

Almasta started as a camel struck by a flight of 
locusts. 

“ What is this lie ? ” she cried out with indignation. 
“ Who has told you this lie ? ” But her face was as 
grey as a stone, and her lips trembled. 

“ You probably killed him by magic arts learned in 
your own country,” said Zehowah, quietly. “ Do not be 
afraid. We are alone, and no one can hear us. Tell me 
how you killed him. Truly it was very skilful of you, 
since the physician, who is the wisest man in Arabia, 
could not tell how it was done.” 

But Almasta began to beat her breast and to make 
oaths and asseverations in her own language, which 
Zehowah could not understand. 

“ If you will tell me how you did it, I will give you 
a rich gift,” Zehowah continued. 

But so much the more Almasta cried out, stretching 
her hands upwards and speaking incomprehensible words. 
So Zehowah waited until she became quiet again. 


no 


KHALED 


“ It may be that Khaled will marry you, if you will 
tell me your secret,” Zehowah said, after a time. 

Then Almasta’s cheek burned and she bent down her 
eyes. 

“ Will you tell me how to kill a man and leave no 
trace?” asked Zehowah, still pressing her. “Look at 
this pearl. Is it not beautiful? See how well it looks 
upon your hair. It is as the leaf of a white rose upon 
a river of red gold. And on your neck — you cannot 
see it yourself — it is like the full moon hanging upon a 
milky cloud. Khaled would give you many pearls like 
this if he married you. Will you not tell me ? ” 

“ Whom do you wish to kill?” Almasta asked, very 
suddenly. But Zehowah was unmoved. 

“ It may be that I have a private enemy,” she said. 
“ Perhaps there is one who disturbs me, against whom I 
plot in the night, but can find no way of ridding myself 
of him. A woman might give much to destroy such a 
one.” 

“ Khaled will kill your enemies. He loves you. He 
will kill all whom you hate.” 

“You make progress. You speak our language 
better,” said Zehowah, laughing a little. “You will 
soon be able to tell the Sultan that you love him, as 
well as I could myself.” 

“ But you do not love him,” Almasta answered boldly. 

Zehowah bent her brows so that they met between 
her eyes as the grip of a bow. Then Khaled’s heart 
leaped in his breast, for he saw that she was angry with 
the woman, and he supposed it was because she secretly 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


111 


loved him. But he held his breath lest even his breath- 
ing should betray him. 

“The portion of fools is fire,” said Zehowah, not 
deigning to give any other answer. For she was a 
king’s daughter and Almasta a bought slave, though 
Khaled had taken her in war. 

“ Be merciful ! ” exclaimed Almasta, in humble tones. 
“ I am your handmaid, and I speak Arabic badly.” 

“You speak with exceeding clearness when it pleases 
you.” 

“ Indeed I cannot talk in your language, for it is not 
long since I came into Arabia.” 

“^Ye will have you taught, for we will give you a 
husband who will teach you with sticks. There is a 
certain hunchback, having one eye and marked with 
the smallpox, whose fists are as the feet of an old 
camel. He will be a good husband for you and will 
teach you the Arabic language, and your skin shall be 
dissolved but your mind will be enlightened thereby.” 

“ Be merciful ! I desire no husband.” 

“ It is good that a woman should marry, even though 
the bridegroom be a hunchback. But if you will tell 
me your secret I will give you a better husband and 
forgive you.” 

“ There is no secret I I have killed no one ! ” cried 
Almasta. “ Who has told you the lie ? ” 

“ And moreover,” continued Zehowah, not regarding 
her protestations, “ there are other ways of learning 
secrets, besides by kindness ; such, for instance, as 
sticks, and hot irons, and hunger and thirst in a prison 


112 


KHALED 


where there are reptiles and poisonous spiders, besides 
many other things with which I have no doubt the 
slaves of the palace are acquainted. It is better that 
you should tell your secret and be happy.” 

“ There is no secret,” Almasta repeated, and she 
would say nothing else, for she did not trust Zehowah 
and feared a cruel death if she told the truth. 

But Zehowah wearied of the contest at last, being 
by no means sure that the woman had really done any 
evil, and having no intention of using any violent 
means such as she had suggested. For she was as just 
as she was wise and would have no one suffer wrongly. 
Khaled, indeed, cared little for the pain of others, hav- 
ing seen much blood shed in war, and would have 
caused Almasta to be tortured if Zehowah had desired 
it. But she did not, preferring to wait and see whether 
she could not entrap the slave into a confession. 

Khaled now came out of his hiding-place into the 
room and advanced towards Zehowah, who remained 
sitting upon the carpet, while Almasta rose and made a 
respectful salutation. But neither of the women knew 
that he had been hidden in the niche. Zehowah did 
not seem surprised, but Almasta’s face was white and 
her eyes were cast down, though indeed Khaled wished 
that it had been otherwise. He was encouraged, how- 
ever, by what he had seen, for Zehowah had certainly 
been angry with Almasta on his account, and he dis- 
missed the latter that he might be alone with his wife. 

“You are wise, Zehowah,” he said, “ and gifted with 
much insight, but you will learn nothing from this 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


113 


woman, though you talk with her a whole year. For she 
suspects you and is guarded in her speech and manner. 
I was standing by the doorway a long time. You did 
not see me, but I heard all that you said.” 

“ Why did you hide yourself ? ” Zehowah asked, look- 
ing at him curiously. 

“ In order to listen,” he answered. “ And I heard 
something and saw something which pleased me. For 
when she said that you did not love me, you were angry.” 

“ Did that please you ? You are more easily pleased 
than I had thought. Shall I bear such things from a 
slave? How is it her business whether I love or not? ” 

“ But you were angry,” Khaled repeated, vainly hop- 
ing that she would say more, yet not wishing to press 
her too far, lest she should say again that she did not 
love him. 

She, however, said nothing in reply, but busied her- 
self in taking his kefiyeh from his head and his sword 
from his side that he might be at ease. He rested 
against the cushions and drank of the cool drink she 
offered him. 

“ This woman, Almasta, is exceedingly beautiful,” he 
said at last. “ It would indeed be a pity that a slave 
of such value should go into the possession of another 
so that we could see her no more. It is best that you 
should keep her with you.” 

Zehowah laughed a little, as she sat down beside him 
and began to play with her beads. 

“This is what I have always said,” she answered. 
“ I will keep her with me.” 


1 


114 


KHALED 


“ It is better so,” said Khaled. 

Then he remained silent in deep thought, having 
devised a new plan for gaining what he most desired. 
It seemed to him possible that Zehowah might be 
moved by jealousy, if by nothing else ; for although Jie 
had sworn to her, and angrily, that he would never take 
Almasta for his wife, and though nothing could really 
have prevailed upon him to make him do so, yet it 
would be easy for him to talk to the woman and speak 
to her of her beauty, and appear to take delight in her 
singing, which was more melodious than that of a Per- 
sian nightingale. Since she would be now permanently 
established in his harem, nothing would be easier than 
for him to spend many hours in the woman’s society. 
Being a simple-minded man the plan seemed to him 
subtle, and he determined to put it into execution with- 
out delay. He knew also that Almasta had loved him 
since the first day when she had been brought before 
him in the palace at Hail, and this would make it still 
more easy to rouse Zehowah’s jealousy. 

Though she had herself advised him to marry 
Almasta, he did not believe that she was greatly in 
earnest, and he felt assured that if the possibility were 
presented before her, in' such a way as to appear im- 
minent, she would be deceived by the appearance. 

“ It is better that she should remain here,” he said 
after a long time. “For we cannot put her to death 
without evidence of her guilt, and if we are obstinate 
in wishing to give her a husband, we do not know how 
many husbands she may destroy before she is satisfied. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


115 


She is beautiful, and will be an ornament in your kah- 
wah. Indeed I do not know why I sent her away just 
now, when I came in. Let us call her back, that she 
may sing to us some of her own songs.” 

Zehowah clapped her hands and Almasta immedi- 
ately returned, for she had indeed been waiting outside 
the door, endeavouring to hear what was said, since she 
suspected that Khaled would speak of her and ask ques- 
tions. She understood well enough, and often much 
better than she was willing to show, though she could 
as yet speak but few w'ords of the Arabic language. 

“ Sit at my feet,” said Khaled, “ and sing to me the 
songs of your own people.” 

Almasta took a musical instrument from the wall 
and sat down to sing. Her voice, indeed, was of en- 
chanting sweetness, but as for the words of her songs, 
the seven wise men themselves could not have under- 
stood a syllable of them, seeing that they were neither 
Arabic nor Persian, nor even Greek. Nevertheless, 
Khaled made a pretence of being much pleased, resting 
his head against the cushions and closing his eyes as 
though the sound soothed him. As for Zehowah, she 
watched the woman with great curiosity, wondering 
wliether it were possible that a creature so fair as 
Almasta could have done the evil deeds of which she 
was suspected, and planning how she might surprise 
her into a confession of guilt. 


CHAPTER VII 


Not many days passed after this, before the women 
of the harem began to whisper among themselves in 
the passages and outer chambers. 

“ See,” they said, “ how our master favours this for- 
eign woman, who is in all probability a devil from the 
Persian mountains. Every day he will have her to 
sing to him, and to bring him drink, and to sit at his 
feet. And he has given her several bracelets of gold 
and a large ruby. Surely it will be better for us to 
flatter her and show her reverence, for if not she ^vill 
before long give us sticks to eat, and we shall mourn 
our folly.” 

So they began to exhibit great respect for Almasta, 
giving her always the best seat amongst them and set- 
ting aside for her the best portions of the mutton, and 
the whitest of the rice, and the largest of the sweet- 
meats and the mellowest of the old sugar dates, so that 
Almasta fared sumptuously. But though she under- 
stood the reason why the women treated her so much 
more kindly than before, she was careful always to 
appear thankful and to speak softly to them, for she 
feared Zehowah, to whom they might speak of her, 
and who was very powerful with the Sultan. She was 
indeed secretly transported with joy, for she loved 
116 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


117 


Khaled and she began to think that before long he 
would marry her. This was her only motive, also, 
for she was not otherwise ambitious, and though she 
afterwards did many evil deeds, she did them all out 
of love for him. 

Though Khaled was by no means soft-hearted, he 
could not but pity her sometimes, seeing how she was 
deceived by his kindness, while he was only making a 
pretence of preferring her in order to gain Zehowah’s 
love. Often he sat long with closed eyes while she 
sang to him or played softly upon the barbat, and he 
tried to fancy that the voice and the presence were 
Zehowah’s. But her strange language disturbed him, 
for there were sounds in it like the hissing of serpents 
and like choking, which caused him to start suddenly 
just when her voice was sweetest. For the Georgian 
tongue is barbarous and not like any human speech 
under the sun, resembling by turns the inarticulate 
warbling of birds, and the croaking of ravens, and the 
noises made by an angry cat. Nevertheless, Khaled 
always made a pretence of being pleased, though he 
enjoined upon Almasta to learn to sing in Arabic. 

“ For Arabic,” he said to her, “ is the language of 
paradise, and is spoken by all beings among the 
blessed, from Adam, our father, who waits for the 
resurrection in the first heaven, to the birds that fly 
among the branches of the tree Sedrat, near the throne 
of Allah, singing perpetually the verses of A1 Koran. 
The black-eyed virgins reserved for the faithful, also 
speak only in Arabic.” 


118 


KHALED 


“ Shall I be of the Hur al Oyun of whom you speak? ” 
Almasta inquired. 

“ How is it possible that you should be of the black- 
eyed ones, when your eyes are blue ? ” Klialed asked, 
laughing. “ And besides, are you not an unbe- 
liever ? ” 

“I believe what you believe, and am learning your 
language. There is no Allah beside Allah.” 

“And Mohammed is Allah’s prophet.” 

“And Mohammed is Allah’s prophet,” Almasta re- 
peated devoutly. 

“ Good. And the six articles of belief are also 
necessary.” 

“Teach me,” said Almasta, laying the barbat upon 
the carpet and folding her hands. 

“You must believe first in Allah, and secondly in 
all the angels. Thirdly you must believe in Al 
Koran, fourthly in the prophets of Allah, fifthly in 
the resurrection of the dead and the last judgment, 
and lastly that your destiny is about your neck so 
that you cannot escape it.” 

“ I believe in everything,” said Almasta, who under- 
stood nothing of these sacred matters. “ Shall I now 
be one of the Hur al Oyun ? ” 

“ But you have blue eyes.” 

“ When I know that I am dying, I will paint them 
black,” said Almasta, laughing sweetly. 

“The angels Monkar and Nakir will discover your 
deception,” said Khaled. “ When you are dead and 
buried, these two angels, who are black, will enter 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


119 


your tomb. They are of extremely terrible appear- 
ance. Then they will make you sit upright in the 
grave and will examine you first as to your belief and 
then as to your deeds. You will then not be able to 
tell lies. If you truly believe and have done good, 
your soul will then be breathed out of your lips and 
will float in a state of rest over your grave until the 
last judgment. But if not, the black angels will beat 
your head with iron maces, and tear your soul from 
your body with a torment greater than that caused by 
tearing the flesh from the bones.” 

“ I believe in everything,” Almasta said again, sup- 
posing that her assent would please him. 

“ You find it an easy matter to believe what I tell 
you,” he said, for he could see that she would have 
received any other faith as readily. “But it is not 
easy for a woman to enter paradise, and since it is 
your destiny to have blue eyes, they will not become 
black. The Hur al Oyun, however, are not mortal 
women and no mortal woman can ever be one of them, 
since they are especially prepared for the faithful. 
But a man’s wives may enter paradise with him, in a 
glorified beauty which may not be inferior to that of 
the black-eyed ones. If, for instance, Abdul Kerim 
had lived and been your husband, you might, by faith 
and good works, have entered heaven with him as one 
of his wives.” 

Almasta looked long at Khaled, trying to see 
whether he still suspected her, and indeed he found 
it very hard to do so, for her look was clear and 


120 


KHALED 


innocent as that of a young dove that is fed by a 
familiar hand. 

“I would like to enter paradise with you,” said 
Almasta, with an appearance of timidity. “ Is it not 
possible ? ” 

“ It may be possible. But I doubt it,” Khaled 
answered, with gravity. 

In those days, while Khaled thus spent many hours 
with Almasta, Zehowah often remained for a long time 
in another part of the harem, either surrounded by her 
women, or sitting alone upon the balcony over the 
court, absorbed in watching the people who came and 
went. The slaves were surprised to see that Khaled 
seemed to prefer the society of the Georgian to that 
of his wife, but they dared say nothing to Zehowah 
and contented themselves with watching her face and 
endeavouring to find out whether she were displeased 
at what was happening, or really indifferent as she 
appeared to be. 

Almasta herself was distrustful, supposing that 
Khaled and Zehowah were in league together to en- 
trap her into a self-accusation, and though her heart 
was transported with happiness while she was with 
Khaled, yet she did not forget to be cautious whenever 
any reference was made to Abdul Kerim’s death. She 
also took the long needle out of her hair and hid it 
carefully in a corner, in a crevice between the pave- 
ment and the wall, lest it should at any time fall from 
its place and bring suspicion upon her. 

Khaled watched Zehowah as narrowly as the women 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


121 


did, to see whether any signs of jealousy showed them- 
selves in her face, and sometimes they talked together 
of Almasta. 

“ It is strange,” said Khaled, ‘‘ that Allah, being all 
powerful, should have provided matter for dissension 
on earth by creating one woman more beautiful than 
another, the one with blue eyes, the other with black, 
the one with red hair and the other with hair needing 
henna to brighten it. Are not all women the children 
of one mother ? ” 

“And are not all men her sons also?” asked Ze- 
howah. “ It is strange that Allah, being all powerful, 
should have provided matter for sorrow by creating 
one man with a spirit easily satisfied, and the other 
with a soul tormented by discontent.” 

Khaled looked fixedly at his wife, and bent his 
brows. But in secret he was glad, for he supposed 
that she was beginning to be jealous. However, he 
made a pretence of being displeased. 

“ Is man a rock that he should never change ? ” he 
asked. “ Or has he but one eye with which to see but 
one kind of beauty ? Have I not two hands, two feet, 
two ears, two nostrils and two eyes ? ” 

“That is true,” Zehowah answered. “But a man 
has only one heart with which to love, one voice with 
which to speak kind words, and one mouth with which 
to kiss the woman he has chosen. And if a man had 
two souls, thev would rend him so that he would be 
mad.” 

At this Khaled laughed a little and would gladly 


122 


KHALED 


have shown Zehowah that she was right. But he 
feared to be treated with indifference, if he yielded to 
her argument so soon, and he held his peace. 

“Nevertheless,” Zehowah continued, after a time, 
“you are right and so am I. You said, indeed, not 
many days ago that your two hands should wither at 
the wrists if you took another wife, yet I advised you 
to do so ; and now it is clear from what you say that 
you wish to marry Almasta. I am your handmaiden. 
Take her, therefore, and be contented, for she loves 
you.” 

But now Khaled was much disturbed as to what he 
should answer, for he had hoped that Zehowah would 
break out into jealous anger. He could not accept her 
advice, because of his oath and still more because of his 
love for her ; yet he could not send away Almasta, 
since by so doing he would be giving over his last hope 
of obtaining Zehowah’s love by rousing her jealousy. 

“Take her,” Zehowah repeated. “The palace is 
wide and spacious. There is room for us both, and 
for two others also, if need be, according to divine law. 
Take her, and let there be contentment. Have you 
not said that she is more beautiful than I ? ” 

“No,” answered Khaled, “I have not said so.” 

“ You have thought it, which is much the same, for 
you said that her hair was red but that mine needed 
henna to brighten it. Marry her therefore, this very 
day. Send for the Kadi, and order a feast, and let it 
be done quickly.” 

“ Is it nothing to you, whether I take her or not ? ” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


123 


Klialed asked, seeking desperately for something to 
say. 

“ Is it for me to set myself up against the holy law ? 
Or did any one exact from you a promise that you 
would not take another wife ? And if you rashly 
promised anything of your own free will, the promise 
is not binding seeing that there is no authority for it 
in A1 Koran, and that no one desires you to keep it — 
neither I, nor Almasta.” 

Zehowah laughed at her own speech, and Khaled 
was too much disturbed to notice that the laugh was 
rather of scorn than of mirth. 

“ How shall I take a woman who is perhaps a mur- 
deress?” he asked. “Shall I take her who was per- 
haps the cause of your revered father’s death ? May 
Allah give him peace ! Surely, the very thought is 
terrible to me, and I will not do it.” 

“ Will you convict her without witnesses ? And 
where is your witness ? Did not the physician explain 
the reason of the death, and did he suspect that there 
was anything unnatural about it ? But if you still 
think that she destroyed my father and Abdul Kerim 
— peace on them both — why do you make her sit all 
day long at your feet and sing to you in her barbarous 
language, which resembles the barking of jackals ? 
And why do you command her to bring you drink and 
fan you when it is hot, and you sleep in the afternoon ? 
This shows a forgiving and trustful disposition.” 

“ This is an unanswerable argument,” thought 
Khaled, being very much perplexed. “ Can I answer 


124 


KHALED 


that I do all this in order to see whether Zehowah is 
jealous? She would certainly laugh to herself and say 
in her heart that she has married a fool.” 

So he said nothing, but bent his brows again, and 
endeavoured to seem angry. But Zehowah took no 
notice of his face and continued to urge him to marry 
Almasta. 

“ Have you ever seen such a woman ? ” she asked. 
“ Have you ever seen such eyes ? Are they not like 
twin heavens of a deep blue, each having a shining sun 
in the midst ? Is not her hair like seventy thousand 
pieces of gold poured out upon the carpet from a 
height ? Her nose is a straight piece of pure ivory. 
Her lips are redder than pomegranates when they are 
ripe, and her cheeks are as smooth as silk. Moreover 
she is as white as milk, freshly taken from the camel, 
whereas my hands are of the colour of blanket-bread 
before it is baked.” 

“Your hands are much smaller than hers,” said 
Khaled, who could not suffer Zehowah to discredit her 
own beauty. 

“I do not know,” she answered, looking at her 
fingers. “ But they are less white. And Almasta 
is far more beautiful than I. You yourself said so.” 

“I never said so,” Khaled replied, more and more 
perplexed. “ There are two kinds of beauty. That is 
what I said. Allah has willed it. Almasta is a slave, 
and her hands are large. It is a pity, for she is like a 
mare that has many good points, but whose hoofs are 
overgrown through too much idleness in the stable. I 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


125 


say that there are two kinds of beauty. Yours is tliat 
of the free woman of a pure and beautiful race ; hers 
is that of the slave accidentally born beautiful.” 

Zehowah gathered up her three long black tresses 
and laid them across her knees as she sat. Then she 
shook off her golden bracelets, one after the other, to 
the number of a score and heaped them upon the hair. 

“ Which do you like best ? ” she asked. “The black 
or the gold ? The day or the night ? Here you see 
them together and can judge fairly between tliem.” 

Khaled sought for a crafty answer and made a pre- 
tence of pondering the matter deeply. 

“After the night,” he said at last, “the day is very 
bright and glorious. But when we have looked on it 
long, only the night can bring rest and peace.” 

He was pleased with himself when he had made 
this answer, supposing that Zehowah would find 
nothing to say. But he had only laid a new trap for 
himself. 

“ That is quite true,” she answered, laughing. “ That 
is also the reason why Allah made the day and the 
night to follow each other in succession, lest men 
should grow weary of eternal light or eternal dark- 
ness. For the same reason also, since you have a wife 
whose hair is black, I counsel you to take a red-haired 
one. In this way you will obtain that variety which 
the taste of man craves.” 

“ If I follow your advice, you will regret it,” said 
Khaled. 

“ You think I shall be jealous, but you are mistaken. 


126 


KHALED 


I am what I am. Can another woman make me more 
or less beautiful ? Moreover, I shall always be first in 
the palace, though you take three other wives. The 
others will rise up when you come in, but 1 shall re- 
main sitting. I shall always be the first wife.” 

“ Undoubtedly, that is your right,” Khaled replied. 
“Do you suppose that 1 wish to put any woman in 
your place ? ” 

Then Zehowah laughed, and laid her hand upon 
Khaled’s arm. 

“ How foolish men are ! ” she exclaimed. “ Do you 
think you can deceive me ? Do you imagine, because 
I have answered you and talked with you to-day, and 
listened to your arguments, that 1 do not understand 
your heart ? Oh, Khaled, this is true which you often 
say of yourself, that your wit is in your arm. If I 
were a warrior and stood before you with a sword in 
my hand, you could argue better, for you would cut off 
my head, and the argument would end suddenly. But 
Allah has not made you subtle, and words in your 
mouth are of no more avail than a sword would be 
in mine, for you entangle yourself in your own 
language, as I should wound myself if I tried to 
handle a weapon.” 

At this Khaled was much disconcerted, and he 
stroked his beard thoughtfully, looking away so as not 
to meet her eyes. 

“ I do not know what you mean,” he said, at last. 
“You certainly imagine something which has no exist- 


ence. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


127 


“ I imagine nothing, for I have seen the truth, ever 
since the first day when you desired to be alone with 
Almasta. You are only foolishly trying to make me 
jealous of her, in order that I may love you better.” 

When Khaled saw that she understood him, he was 
without any defence, for he had built a wall of sand 
for himself, like a child playing in the desert, which 
the first breath of wind causes to crumble, and the 
second blast leaves no trace of it behind. 

“ And am I foolish, because I have done this thing?” 
he cried, not attempting to deny the truth. “ Am I a 
fool because I desire your love ? But it is folly to 
speak of it, for you will reproach me and say that I 
am discontented, and will offer me another woman for 
my wife. Go. Leave me alone. If you do not love 
me, the sight of you is as vinegar poured into a fresh 
wound, and as salt rubbed into eyes that are sore with 
the sand. Go. Why do you stay? Do you not be- 
lieve me ? Do you wish me to kill you that I may 
have peace from you ? It is a pity that you did not 
marry one of the hundred suitors who came before me, 
for you certainly loved one of them, since you cannot 
love me. You doubtless loved the Indian prince. 
Would you have him back? I can give you his 
bones, for I slew him with my own hands and buried 
him in the Red Desert, where his soul is sitting upon 
a heap of sand, waiting for the day of resurrection.” 

Then Zehowah was greatly astonished, for neither 
she nor any one else had ever known what had been 
the end of that suitor, and after waiting a long time, 


128 


KHALED 


his people who had been with him had departed 
sorrowing to their own country, and she had heard 
no more of them. 

“ What is this ? ” she asked in amazement. “ Why 
did you kill him? And how could you have done 
this thing unseen, since he was guarded by many 
attendants ? ” 

“ I took him out of the palace in the night, when 
all were asleep, and then I killed him,” said Khaled, 
and Zehowah could get no other answer, for he would 
not confess that he had been one of the genii, lest she 
should not believe the truth, or else, believing, should 
be afraid of him in the future. 

“ I will give you his bones,” he said, “ if you desire 
them, for I know where they are, and you certainly 
loved him, and are still mourning for him. If he 
could be alive, I would kill him again.” 

“ I never loved him,” Zehowah answered, at last. 
“ How was it possible ? But I would perhaps have 
married him, hoping to convert all his people to the 
true faith.” 

“ As you have married me in the hope, or the 
assurance, of giving your people a just king.” 

“You are angry, Khaled. And, indeed, I could be 
angry, too, but with myself and not with you, as you 
are with me, though it be for the same reason. For I 
begin to see and understand why you are discontented, 
and indeed I will do what I can to satisfy you.” 

“ You must love me, as I love you, if you would 
save me from destruction,” said Khaled. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


129 


Though Zehowah could not comprehend the mean- 
ing of the words, she saw by his face that he was 
terribly moved, and she herself began to be more 
sorry for him. 

“Indeed, Khaled,” she said, “I will try to love you 
from this hour. But it is a hard thing, because you 
cannot explain it, and it is not easy to learn what 
cannot be explained. Do you think that all women 
love their husbands in this way you mean ? Am I 
unlike all the rest ? ” 

Khaled took her hand and held it, and looked into 
her eyes. 

“ Love is the first mystery of the world,” he said. 
“Death is the second. Between the two there is 
nothing but a weariness darkened with shadows and 
thick with mists. What is gold ? A cinder that 
glows in the darkness for a moment and falls away to 
a cold ash in our hand when we have taken it. But 
love is a treasure which remains. What is renown ? 
A cry uttered in the bazaar by men whose minds are 
subject to change as their bodies are to death. But 
the voice of love is heard in paradise, singing beside 
the fountains Tasnim and Salsahil. What is power? 
A net with which to draw wealth and fame from the 
waters of life? To what end? We must die. Or 
is power a sword to kill our enemies ? If their time 
is come they will die without the sword. Or is it a 
stick to purify the hides of fools ? The fool will die 
also, like his master, and both will be forgotten. But 
they who love shall enter the seventh heaven together. 


130 


KHALED 


according to the promise of Allah. Death is stronger 
than man or woman, but love is stronger than death, 
and all else is but a vision seen in the desert, having 
no reality.” 

“ I will try to understand it, for I see that you are 
very unhappy,” said Zehowah. 

She was silent after this, for Khaled’s words were 
earnest and sank into her soul. Yet the more she 
tried to imagine what the passion in him could be like, 
the less she was able to understand it, for some of 
Khaled’s actions had been foolish, but she supposed 
that there must have been some wisdom in them, 
having its foundation in the nature of love. 

“What he says is true,” she thought. “I married 
him in order to give my people a just and brave king, 
and he is both brave and just. And I am certainly a 
good wife, for I should be dissolved in shame if an- 
other man were to see my face, and moreover I am 
careful of his wants, and I take his kefiyeh from his 
head with my own hands, and smooth the cushions for 
him and bring him food and drink when he desires it. 
Or have I withheld from him any of the treasures of 
the palace, or stood in the way of his taking another 
wife ? Until to-day, I thought indeed that this talk of 
love meant but little, and that he spoke of it because 
he desired an excuse for marrying Almasta who loves 
him. But when I said at a venture that he wished to 
make me jealous, he confessed the truth. Now all the 
tales of love told by the old women are of young per- 
sons who have seen each other from a distance, but are 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


131 


hindered from marrying. And we are already married. 
Surely, it is very hard to understand.” 

After this Khaled never called Almasta to sit at his 
feet and sing to him, as he had done before, and Ze- 
howah was constantly with him in her stead. At first 
Almasta supposed that Khaled only made a pretence of 
disregarding her, out of respect for his wife, but she 
soon perceived that he was indifferent and no longer 
noticed her. She then grew fierce and jealous, and her 
voice was not heard singing in the harem ; but she 
went and took her needle again from the crevice in the 
pavement and hid it in her hair, and though Zehowah 
often called her, when Khaled was not in the house, 
she made as though she understood even less of the 
Arabic language than before and sat stupidly on the 
carpet, gazing at her hands. Zehowah wearied of her 
silence, for she understood the reason of it well enough. 

“I am tired of this woman,” she said to Khaled. 
“ Do you think I am jealous of her now ? ” 

Khaled smiled a little, but said nothing, only shak- 
ing his head. 

“ I am tired of her,” Zehowah repeated. “ She sits 
before me like a sack of barley in a grainseller’s shop, 
neither moving nor speaking.” 

“ She is yours,” Khaled answered. “ Send her away. 
Or we will give her in marriage to one of the sheikhs 
who will take her away to the desert. In this way she 
will not be able even to visit you except when her hus- 
band comes into the city.” 

But they decided nothing at that time. Some days 


132 


KHALED 


later Khaled was sitting alone upon a balcony, Ze- 
howah having gone to the bath, when Almasta came 
suddenly before him and threw herself at his feet, 
beating her forehead and tearing her hair, though not 
indeed in a way to injure it. 

“ What have I done ? ” she cried. “ Why is my lord 
displeased ? ” 

Khaled looked at her in surprise, but answered 
nothing at first. 

“Why are my lord’s eyes like frozen pools by the 
Kura, and why is his forehead like Kasbek in a mist?” 

Khaled laughed a little at her words. 

“ Kasbek is far from Riad,” he answered, “ and the 
waters of the Kura do not irrigate the Red Desert. I 
am not displeased. On the contrary, I will give you a 
husband and a sufficient dowry. Go in peace.” 

But Almasta remained where she was, weeping and 
beating her forehead. 

“ Let me stay I ” she cried. “ Let me stay, for I love 
you. I will eat the dust under your feet. Only let 
me stay.” 

“ I think not,” Khaled answered. “ You weary 
Zehowah with your silence and your sullenness.” 

“ Let me stay ! ” she repeated, over and over again. 

She was not making any pretence of grief, for the 
tears ran down abundantly and stained the red leather 
of Khaled’s shoes. Though he was hard-hearted he 
was not altogether cruel, for a man who loves one 
woman greatly is somewhat softened towards all such 
as do not stand immediately in his way. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


13S 


“ It is true,” he thought, “ that I have given this 
woman some occasion of hope, for I have treated her 
kindly during many days, and she has probably sup- 
posed that I would marry her. For she is less keen- 
sighted than Zehowah, and moreover she loves me.” 

“ Do not drive me out ! ” cried Almasta. “ For I 
shall die if I cannot see your face. What have I 
done ? ” 

“ You have indeed done nothing worthy of death, 
for I cannot prove that you killed Abdul Kerim. I 
will therefore give you a good husband and you shall 
be happy.” 

But Almasta would not go away, and embracing 
his knees she looked up into his face, imploring him 
to let her remain. Khaled could not but see that she 
was beautiful, for the mid-day light fell upon her 
white face and her red lips, and made shadows in her 
hair of the colour of mellow dates, and reflections as 
bright as gold when the burnisher is still in the gold- 
smith’s hand. Though he cared nothing for Almasta 
and little for her sorrow, his eye was pleased and he 
smiled. 

Then he looked up and saw Zehowah standing be- 
fore him, just as she had come from the bath, wrapped 
in loose garments of silk and gold. He gazed at her 
attentively for there was a distant gleam of light in 
her eyes and her cheeks were Avarm, though she stood 
in the shadow, so that he thought she had never been 
more beautiful, and he did not care to look at Al- 
masta’s face again. 


134 


KHALED 


“Why is Almasta lamenting in this way?” Ze- 
howah asked. 

“ She desires to stay in the palace,” Khaled an- 
swered ; “ but I have told her that she shall be mar- 
ried, and yet she wishes to stay.” 

“ Let her be married quickly, then. Is she a free 
woman, that she should resist, or is she rich that she 
should refuse alms? Let her be married.” 

“ There is a certain young man, cousin to Abdul 
Kerim, a Bedouin of pure descent. Let him take her, 
if he will, and let the marriage be celebrated to- 
morrow.” 

But Almasta shook her head, and her tears never 
ceased from flowing. 

“You will marry him,” said Khaled. “And if any 
harm comes to him, I will cause you to be put to 
death before the second call to prayer on the follow- 
ing morning.” 

When Almasta heard this, her tears were suddenly 
dried and her lips closed tightly. She rose from the 
floor and retired to a distance within the room. 

On that day Khaled sent for the young man of 
whom he had spoken, whose name was Abdullah ibn 
Mohammed el Herir, and offered him Almasta for a 
wife. And he accepted her joyfully, for he had heard 
of her wonderful beauty, and was moreover much 
gratified by being given a woman whom the former 
Sultan would probably have married if he had lived. 
Khaled also gave him a grey mare as a wedding gift, 
and a handsome garment. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


135 


The marriage was therefore celebrated in the cus- 
tomary manner, and no harm came to Abdullah. But 
as the autumn had now set in, he soon afterwards left 
the city, taking Almasta with him, to live in tents, 
after the manner of the Bedouins. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Abdullah ibn Mohammed, though a young man, 
was now the sheikh of a considerable tribe which had 
frequently done good service to the late Sultan, Ze- 
howah’s father, and which had also borne a prominent 
part in the recent war. Abdul Kerim, whom Almasta 
had murdered, had been the sheikh during his life- 
time, and if the claims of birth had been justly con- 
sidered, his son, though a mere boy, should have 
succeeded him. But Abdullah had found it easy to 
usurp the chief place, and in the council which was 
held after Abdul Kerim’s death he was chosen by 
acclamation. It chanced, too, that he was not mar- 
ried at the time when he took Almasta, for of two 
wives the one had died of a fever during the summer, 
and he had divorced the other on account of her un- 
bearable temper, having been deceived in respect of 
this by her parents, who had assured him that she was 
as gentle as a dove and as submissive as a lamb. But 
she had turned out to be as quarrelsome as a wasp 
and as unmanageable as an untrained hawk, so he 
divorced her, and the more readily because she was 
not beautiful and her dower had been insignificant. 
Almasta therefore found that she was her husband’s 
only wife. 


136 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


137 


She would certainly have killed him, as she had 
killed Abdul Kerim, and, indeed, the late Sultan, in 
the hope of being taken back into the palace, but she 
was prevented by the fear of death, for she had seen 
that Khaled’s threat was not empty, and would be 
executed if harm came to Abdullah after his mar- 
riage. She accordingly set herself to please him, and 
first of all she learned to speak the Arabic language, 
in order that she might sing to him in his own tongue 
and tell him tales of distant countries, which she had 
learned in her own home. 

Abdullah passed the months of autumn and the early 
winter in the desert, moving about from place to place, 
as is the custom of the Bedouins, it being his intention 
to reach a northerly point of Ajman in the spring, in 
order to fall upon the Persian pilgrims and extort a 
ransom before they entered the territory of Nejed. For 
it would not be lawful to attack them after that, since 
there was a treaty with the Emir of Basrah, allowing 
the pilgrims a safe and free passage towards Mecca, 
for which the Emir paid yearly a sum of money to 
the Sultan of Nejed. 

But Almasta knew nothing of this, for she was wholly 
ignorant of the desert ; and moreover Abdullah was a 
cautious man, who held that whatsoever is to be kept 
secret must not be uttered aloud, though there be no 
one within three days’ journey to hear it. 

Abdullah treated her with great consideration, not 
obliging her to weary herself overmuch with cooking 
and other work of the tents. For he rejoiced in her 


138 


KHALED 


beauty and in the sweetness of her voice, and his chief 
delight was to sit in the door of the tent at night, 
chewing frankincense, while Almasta sat within, close 
behind him, and told him tales of her own country, or 
of the life in the palace of Riad. The latter indeed 
was as strange to him as the former, and much more 
interesting. 

Now one evening they were alone together in this 
manner, and it was not yet very cold. But the stars 
shone brightly as though there would be a frost before 
morning, and the other tents were all closed and no 
one was near the coals which remained from the fire 
after baking the blanket-bread. One might hear the 
chewing of the camels in the dark, and the tramping 
of a mare that moved slowly about, her hind feet being 
chained together. 

“ Tell me more of the palace at Riad,” said Abdullah. 
“For your Kura, and your snow-covered Kasbek, and 
your Tiflis with its warm springs and gardens, I shall 
never see. But I have seen the courts of the palace 
from my youth, and the Sultan’s kahwah, and the 
latticed windows of the harem, from which you say 
that you saw me and loved me in the last days of 
summer.” 

Almasta had said this to please him, though it was 
not true. For she knew that men easily believe what 
flatters them, as women believe that what they desire 
must come to pass. 

“The palace is a wonderful palace,” said Almasta, 
“and I will tell you of the treasures which are in it.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


139 


“ That is what I wish to hear,” answered Abdullah, 
putting a piece of frankincense into his mouth and 
beginning to chew it. “Tell me of the treasures, for 
it is said that they are great and of extraordinary 
value.” 

“ The value of them cannot be calculated, O Abdul- 
lah, for if you had seventy thousand hands and on each 
hand seventy thousand fingers, you could not count 
upon your fingers in a whole lifetime the gold sherifs 
and sequins and tomans which are hidden away there 
in bags. Beneath the court of strangers there is a 
great chamber built of stone in which the sacks of gold 
are kept, and they are piled up to the roof of the vault 
on all sides and in the middle, leaving only narrow 
passages between.” 

“ If it is all gold, what is the use of the passages ? ” 
asked Abdullah. 

“ I do not know, but they are there, and there is 
another room filled with silver in the same manner. 
There are also secret places underground, in which 
jewels are kept in chests, rubies and pearls and Indian 
diamonds and emeralds, in such quantities that they 
would suffice to make necklaces of a thousand rows 
each for each of the mountains in my country. And 
we have many mountains, great ones, not such as the 
little hills you have seen, but several days’ journey in 
height. For we say that when the Lord made the 
earth it was at first unsteady, and He set our moun- 
tains upon it, in the middle, to make it firm, and it 
has never moved since.” 


140 


KHALED 


“I do not believe this,” said Abdullah. “Tell me 
more about the jewels in Riad.” 

“ There is no end of them. They are like the grains 
of sand in the desert, and no one of them is worth less 
than a thousand gold sherifs. I do not even know the 
names of the different kinds, but there are turquoises 
without number, of the Maidan, and all good, so that 
you may write upon them with a piece of gold as with 
a pen; and there are red stones as -large as a dove’s 
egg, red and fiery as the wine of Kachetia, and others, 
blue as the sky in winter, and yellow ones, and some 
with leaves of gold in them, like morsels of treng float- 
ing in the juice. But besides the gold and silver and 
precious stones there are thousands of rich garments 
which are kept in chests of fragrant wood, in upper 
chambers, abas woven of gold and silk and linen, and 
vests embroidered with pearls, and shoes of which even 
the soles appear to be of gold. And there are great 
pieces of stuff, Indian silk, and Persian velvet, and 
even satin from Stamboul, woven by unbelievers with 
the help of devils. Then, too, in the palace of Riad, 
there are stored great quantities of precious weapons, 
most of them made in Syria, with many swords of 
Sham, which you say are the best, though I do not 
understand the matter, each having an inscription in let- 
ters of gold upon the blade, and the hilt most cunningly 
chiselled in the same metal, or carved out of ivory.” 

“ I saw the treasure of Hail when we took it away 
after the war, and most of it was distributed among us, 
but there was nothing like this,” said Abdullah. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


141 


“ The treasure of Hail is to the treasure of Riad, as 
a small black fly walking upon the face of the sun,” 
answered Almasta. “ And yet there was wealth there 
also, and there was much which you never saw. For 
that Khaled, who is now Sultan, is crafty and avari- 
cious, and he loaded many camels secretly by night, 
being helped by black slaves, all of whom he slew 
afterwards with his own hand lest they should tell the 
tale, and he then called camel-drivers and sent them 
away with the beasts to Riad. And he said to them : 
‘These are certain loads. of fine wheat and of mellow 
dates, for the Sultan’s table, such as cannot be found in 
Riad.’ But he sent a letter to his father-in-law, who 
caused all the packs to be taken immediately to one 
of the secret chambers, where he and his daughter 
Zehowah took out the jewels and stored them with 
their own. And as for me, I believe that Khaled 
made an end of the Sultan himself by means of 
poison in Dereyiyah, for he rode away suddenly 
after they had met, as though his conscience smote 
him.” 

“ What is this evil tale which you are telling me ? ” 
cried Abdullah. “ Surely, it is a lie, for Khaled is a 
brave man who gives every one his due and deceives 
no one. And he is by no means subtle, for I have 
heard him in council, and he generally said only, 
‘ Smite,’ but sometimes he said ‘ Strike,’ and that was 
all his eloquence. But whether he said the one or the 
other, he was generally the first to follow his own 
advice, which, indeed, by the merciful dispensation of 


142 


KHALED 


Allah, procured us the victory. But what is this tale 
which you have invented? ” 

“ And who is this Khaled whom you praise ? ” 
asked Almasta. “ And how can you know his crafti- 
ness as I know it, who have lived in the palace and 
braided his wife’s hair, and brought him drink when 
he was thirsty? Is he a man of your tribe whose 
descent you can count upon your fingers, from him to 
his grandfather and to Ishmael and Abraham ? Or is 
he a man of a tribe known to you, and whose genera- 
tions you also know ? Has any man called him 
Khaled ibn Mohammed, or Khaled ibn Abdullah ? Or 
has he ever spoken of his father, who is probably now 
drinking boiling water, and the black angels are pound- 
ing his head with iron maces. Yet he says that he 
came from the desert. Then you, who are of the desert, 
do not know the desert, for you do not know whence 
he is. But there are those who do know, and he fears 
them, lest they should tell the truth and destroy him.” 

“ These are idle tales,” said Abdullah. “ Is it prob- 
able that the Sultan would have bestowed his daughter 
and all the treasures you have described upon such a 
man without having made inquiries concerning his 
family. And if the Sultan said nothing to us about 
it, and if Khaled holds his peace, they have doubtless 
their reasons. For it may be that there is a blood feud 
between the people of Khaled and some great person in 
Riad, so that he would be in danger of his life if he 
revealed his father’s name. Allah knows. It is not 
our business.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


143 


“ O Abdullah, you are simple, and you believe all 
things I ” cried Almasta. “ But I heard of him in 
Basrah.” 

“What did you hear in Basrah? And how could 
you have heard of him there ? ” 

“ I was in the Emir’s harem, being kept there to 
rest from the journey after they had brought me from 
the north. And there I heard of Khaled, for the 
women talked of him, having been told tales about him 
by a merchant who was admitted to the palace.” 

“ Now this is great folly,” answered Abdullah. 
“For Khaled came suddenly to Riad, and was married 
immediately to Zehowah, and on the next day he 
went out with us against Hail, which we took from 
the Shammar in three weeks’ time from the day of our 
marching. Moreover we found you there in the palace. 
How then could news of Khaled have reached Basrah 
before you left that place ? ” 

“ I had come to Hail but the day before you attacked 
the city,” said Almasta. “ But did I say that I had 
heard of him as already married to Zehowah ? ” 

For she saw that she had run the risk of being 
found out in a lie, and she made haste to defend herself. 
“ What did you hear of him ? ” asked Abdullah. 

“ He was a notable fellow and a robber,” answered 
Almasta. “For he is a Persian, and a Shiyah, who 
offers prayers to Ali in secret. But because he had 
done many outrageous deeds, a great price was set 
upon his head throughout Persia, so he fled into Arabia 
and by his boldness and craft he married Zehowah. 


144 


KHALED 


And now he has made a secret covenant to deliver over 
the kingdom of Nejed to the Persians.” 

Then Abdullah laughed aloud. 

“Who shall deliver over the Bedouin to a white- 
faced people, who live on boiled chestnuts and ride 
astride of a camel? And when a man has got a king- 
dom, why should he give it up to any one, except under 
force? ” 

“ There is a reason for this, too,” Almasta answered 
unabashed. “ For the King of the Persians, whom 
they call the Padeshah, had an only daughter, of great 
beauty, and Khaled is to receive her in marriage as the 
price of Nejed. Then he will by treachery destroy the 
Padeshah’s sons and will inherit Persia also, as he has 
inherited Nejed ; and after that he will make war upon 
the Romans in Stamboul and will become the master of 
the whole world.” 

“ This is a strange tale, and seems full of madness,” 
said Abdullah. “ I do not believe it. Tell me rather 
a story of your own country, and afterwards we will 
sleep, for to-morrow we will leave this place.” 

“ I will tell you a wonderful history, which is quite 
true,” answered Almasta. “Take this fresh piece of 
frankincense which I have prepared for you, and put 
it into your mouth, for you will then not interrupt me 
with questions while I am speaking.” 

So Abdullah took the savoury gum and chewed it, 
and Almasta told him the tale which here follows. 

“ There is in the north, beyond Persia, a great and 
prosperous kingdom, lying between two seas, and re- 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


145 


sembling paradise for its wonderful beauty. All the 
hills are covered with trees of every description in 
which innumerable birds make their nests, all of a 
beautiful plumage and good for man to eat. And in 
these forests there are also great herds of animals, 
whose name I do not know in Arabic, having branch- 
ing horns and kindred to the little beast which you 
call the cow of the desert, but far better to eat and as 
large as full-grown camels. A man who is hungry 
need only shoot an arrow at a venture, for the birds 
and animals are so numerous that he will certainly hit 
something. This kingdom is watered everywhere by 
rivers and streams abounding in fish, all good to eat 
and easily caught, and all the valleys are filled with 
vineyards of black and white grapes. But the people 
of this country are chiefly Christians. May Allah send 
them enlightenment ! Now the King was an old man, 
who delighted in feasting and cared little for the affairs 
of the nation, preferring a lute to a sword, and a wine- 
cup to a shield, and the feet of dancing girls to the 
hoofs of war horses. He had no son to go out to war 
for him, but only one beautiful daughter.” 

“ Like the Sultan of our country who died,” said 
Abdullah. 

“Very much. There were also other points of 
resemblance. Now there was a certain Tartar in the 
kingdom of Samarkand, called Ismail, who was a rob- 
ber and had destroyed many caravans on the march, 
and had broken into many houses both in Samarkand 
and Tashkent, a notable evildoer. But having one 


146 


KHALED 


day stolen a fleet mare from the Sultan’s stables, the 
soldiers pursued him, and in order to escape impale- 
ment he fled. No one could catch him because the 
mare he had stolen was the fleetest in Great Tartary. 
So he rode westward through many countries, and by 
the shores of the inland sea, until he came to the king- 
dom which I have described. There he hid himself in 
the forest for some time and waylaid travellers, mak- 
ing them tell him all that they knew of the kingdom, 
and afterwards killing them. But when he had ob- 
tained all that he wanted, both rich garments and 
splendid weapons, and the necessary information, he 
left the forest and rode into the capital city. Then he 
went to the King and desired of him a private audience, 
which was granted. He said that he was the son of a 
powerful Christian prince, and had been taken captive 
by the Tartars, but had escaped, and he offered to 
make all Tartary subject to the King, if only he might 
marry his daughter. And whether by magic, or by elo- 
quence, he succeeded, for the King was old and feeble- 
minded. But soon after the wedding, he poisoned his 
father-in-law and became king in his place, though 
there were many in the land who had a better right, 
being closely connected with the royal blood.” 

“ This is the story of Khaled,” said Abdullah. “ I 
know the truth. Why do you weary me, trying to 
deceive me, and calling him a robber ? But it is true 
that in Nejed there are men of good descent who have 
a better right to sit on the throne.” 

“ Hear what followed,” answered Almasta. “ This 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


14T 


man Ismail afterwards took captive a woman of the 
Tartars, who knew who he was, though he supposed 
her ignorant. And he gave her in marriage to the 
youngest and bravest of his captains, a man to whom 
Allah had vouchsafed the tongue of eloquence, and the 
teeth of strength, and the lips of discretion to close 
together and hide both at the proper season. The 
woman told her husband who Ismail was, and in- 
structed him concerning the palace, its passages and 
secret places, and the treasures that were hidden there. 
And she told him also that Ismail had made a covenant 
with the Sultan of his own country, which would bring 
destruction upon the nation he now ruled. For she 
loved her husband on account of his youth and beauty, 
and she had embraced his faith and was ready to die 
for him.” 

“ The husband’s name was Abdullah,” said Abdullah. 
“And he also loved his wife, who surpassed other 
women in beauty, as a bay mare surpasses pigs.” 

“ He afterwards loved her still better,” answered 
Almasta, “for though he was only chief over four 
hundred tents, she gave him a kingdom. Hear what 
followed. But I will call him Abdullah if you please, 
though his name was Mskhet.” 

“ Allah is merciful ! There are no such names in 
Arabia. This one is like the breaking of earthen 
vessels upon stones. Call him Abdullah.” 

“ Abdullah therefore went to the wisest and most 
discreet of his kindred, and spoke to them of the great 
treasures which were hidden in the palace, and he 


148 


KHALED 


pointed out to their obscured sight that all this wealth 
had been got by them and their fathers in war, and had 
been taken in tithes from the people, and was now 
in the possession of Ismail. And they talked among 
themselves and saw that this was indeed true. And at 
another time, he told them that Ismail was not really 
of their religion, but a hypocrite. And again a third 
time he told them the whole truth, so that their hearts 
burned when they knew that their King was but a rob- 
ber who had been condemned to death. Though they 
were discreet men, the story was in some way told 
abroad among the soldiers, doubtless by the interven- 
tion of angels, so that all the people knew it, and were 
angry against Ismail and ready to break out against 
him so soon as a man could be found to lead them. 

“But,” said Abdullah, “this Ismail doubtless had a 
strong guard of soldiers about him, and had given gifts 
to his captains, and shown honour to them, so that they 
were attached to him.” 

“Undoubtedly,” replied Almasta, “and but for his 
wife, Abdullah could not have succeeded. She ad- 
vised him to go to his discreet kindred and friends and 
say to them, ‘ See, if you will afterwards support me, I 
will go alone into the palace and will get the better of 
this Ismail, when he is asleep, and I will so do that the 
soldiers shall not oppose me. And afterwards, you will 
all enter together and the treasure shall be divided. 
But we will throw some of it to the people, lest they 
be disappointed.’ And so he did. For his wife knew 
the secret entrances to the palace and took him in with 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


149 


her by night, disguised as a woman. And they went 
together silently into the harem, and slew Ismail and 
bound his wife, and took the keys of the treasure 
chambers from under the pillow. After this they took 
from the gold as many bags as there were soldiers, and 
waked each man, giving him a sack of sherifs, and 
bidding him take as much more as he could find, for 
the King was dead. Then Abdullah’s friends were ad- 
mitted and they divided the treasure, and went abroad 
before it was day, calling upon the people that Ismail 
was dead and that a man of their own nation was King 
in his place, and scattering handfuls of gold into every 
house as they passed. And, behold, before the second 
call to prayer, Abdullah was King, and all the people 
came and did homage to him. And Abdullah himself 
was astonished when he saw how easy it had been, and 
loved his wife even better than before.” 

So Almasta finished her tale and there was silence 
for a time, while Abdullah sat still and gazed at the 
closed tents in the starlight, and listened to the distant 
chewing of the camels. 

“ Give me some water,” he said at last. “ I am very 
thirsty.” 

She brought him drink from the skin, and soon 
afterwards he lay down to rest. But they said nothing 
more to each other that night of the story which Al- 
masta had told. 

On the following day they journeyed fully eleven 
hours, to a place where there was much water, and 
in the evening, when the camels were chewing, and 


150 


KHALED 


all the Bedouins had eaten and were resting in their 
tents, Abdullah sat again in his accustomed place. 

“ Almasta, light of my darkness,’' he said, “I would 
gladly hear again something of the tale you told me 
last night, for I have not remembered it well, being 
overburdened with the cares of my people and the 
direction of the march. Surely you said that when 
the woman and her husband had killed Ismail they 
took the keys of the treasure chambers from under his 
pillow. Is it not so ? ” 

“ They did so, Abdullah.” 

“ And they immediately went and took the gold and 
gave it to the guards? But I have forgotten, for it is 
a matter of little importance, being but a tale.” 

“ That is what they did,” answered Almasta. 

“ But surely this is a fable. How could the woman 
know the way to the treasure chambers and find it in 
the dark? For you said also that these secret places 
were underground and therefore a great way from the 
harem.” 

“ I did not say that, Abdullah, for the secret places 
underground are those in Riad, which I described to 
you before I began the other story.” 

“ This may be true, for I am very forgetful. But I 
daresay that the treasures in the city you described 
were also hidden in similar places.” 

“Since you speak of this, I remember that it was 
so. The glorious light of your intelligence penetrates 
the darkness of my memory and makes it clear. The 
places were exactly similar.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


151 


“ How then could the woman, who only knew the 
harem, find her way in the dark, and lead her husband, 
to a part of the palace which she had never visited ? 
This is a hard thing.” 

“ It was not hard for her. She had seen Ismail 
open with his key a door in his sleeping chamber, and 
he had gone in and after some time had returned 
bearing sacks of gold pieces. Was this a hard thing? 
Or does a wise man make two doors to his treasure- 
house, the one for himself and the other for thieves ? 
The one leading to his own chamber, for his own use, 
and the other opening upon the highway for the con- 
venience of robbers ? It is possible, but I think not. 
Ismail had but one door. He was not an Egyptian 
jackass.” 

“ This is reasonable,” said Abdullah. “ And I am 
now satisfied. But my imagination was not at rest, for 
the story is a good one and deserves to be well told.” 

After this Abdullah wandered for a long time with 
the Bedouins who accompanied him, often changing his 
direction, so that they wondered whither he was leading 
them, and began to question him. But he answered 
that he had heard secretly of a great spoil to be taken, 
and that they should all have a share of it, and when- 
ever they came upon Ai’abs of another tribe Abdullah 
invited the sheikh and the most notable men to his 
tent, and entertained them sumptuously with camel's 
meat, afterwards talking long with them in private. 
Before many weeks had passed, the skilful men of the 
tribe, who knew the signs, were aware that many other 


152 


KHALED 


Bedouins were travelling in the same direction as 
themselves, though they could not be seen. 

But neither Abdullah’s men, nor Almasta herself, 
could know that in three months the sheikhs of all 
the tribes from Hasa to Harb, and from Ajman to El 
Kora, had heard that Khaled the Sultan was a Persian 
robber, and a Shiyah at heart, venerating Ali and 
execrating the true Sonna, a man who in all probability 
drank wine in secret, and who was certainly plotting 
to deliver up all Nejed to the power of the Ajjem. 
Some of them believed the tale readily enough, for all 
had asked whence Khaled was and none had got an 
answer. Could a man be of the desert, they asked, 
and yet not be known by name in any of the tribes, 
nor his father before him ? Surely, there was a secret, 
they said, and he who will not tell the name of his 
father has a reason for changing his own. And as for 
his being brave and having fought well in the war 
with the Sham mar, how could a man have been a 
robber if he were not brave, and why should he not 
light manfully, since he had everything to gain and 
nothing to lose ? As for the spoils, too, he had made 
a pretence of dividing them justly, but it was now 
well known that he had laden camels by stealth at 
Hail, and had sent them secretly to Riad, slaughtering 
with his own hand all those who had helped him. 

Little by little, too, the story came to Riad and 
was told in a low voice by merchants in the bazaar, 
and repeated by their wives among their acquaintance, 
and by the slaves in the market and among the beggars 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


153 


who begged by the doors of the great mosque but 
were fed daily from the palace. And though many 
persons of the better sort thought that the story might 
be true, and wagged their heads when Khaled’s name 
was spoken, yet the beggars with one accord declared 
that it was a lie. For Khaled was generous in alms- 
giving, and they said, “If Khaled is overthrown and 
another Sultan set up in his place, how do we know 
whether there will be boiled camel’s meat from time to 
time as well as blanket-bread and a small measure of 
barley meal ? And will the next Sultan scatter gold 
in the streets as Khaled did on the first da}^ when he 
rode to the mosque ? Truly these chatterers of Bed- 
ouins talk much of the treasure in the palace which will 
be divided, but they who talk most of gold, are they 
who most desire it, and we shall get none. Therefore 
we say it is a lie, and Khaled is a true man, and a 
Sonna like ourselves, not a swiller of wine nor a de- 
vourer of pigs. Allah show him mercy now and at the 
day of resurrection ! The cock-sparrow is pluming his 
breast while the hunter is pulling the string of the 
snare.” 

Thus the beggars talked among themselves all day, 
reasoning after the manner of their kind. But they 
suffered other people to talk as they pleased, for one 
who desires alms must not exhibit a contradictory dis- 
position, lest the rich man be offended and eat the melon 
together with the melon peels, and exclaim that the 
dirt-scraper has become a preacher. For the rich man’s 
anger is at the edge of his nostrils and always ready. 


154 


K HALED 


As the winter passed away and the spring began, the 
tribes of the desert drew nearer and nearer to the city, 
as is their wont at that season. For many of the 
sheikhs had houses in the city, in which they spent 
the hot months of the year, while their people were 
encamped in the low hill country not far off, where the 
heat is less fierce than in the plains and the deserts. 
And now also the season of the Haj was approaching, 
for Ramadhan was not far off, and the beggars congre- 
gated at the gates waiting for the first pilgrims, and 
expecting plentiful alms, which in due time they 
received, for in that year Abdullah did not molest the 
Persian pilgrimage, his mind being occupied with other 
matters. 


CHAPTER IX 


The story which was thus repeated from mouth to 
mouth in Riad reached the palace at the last, and the 
guards told it to each other as they sat together under 
the shadow of the great wall, the cooks related it among 
themselves in the kitchen, and the black slaves gos- 
sipped about it in the corners of the courtyard, and the 
women slaves stood and listened while they talked and 
carried the tale into the harem. But the people of the 
palace were more slow to believe than the people of 
the city, for they shared in a measure in Khaled’s right 
of possession, and desired no change of master, so that 
for a long time neither Zehowah nor Khaled heard 
anything of what was commonly reported. Yet at last 
the old woman who had been Zehowah’s nurse told 
her the substance of the story, with many protestations 
of unbelief and of anger against those who had in- 
vented the lie. 

“ It is right that my lady and mistress should know 
these things,” she said, “ and when our lord the Sultan 
has been informed of them, he will doubtless cause his 
soldiers to go forth with sticks and purify the hides of 
the chief evil-speakers in the bazaar. There is one 
especially, a merchant whose shop is opposite the door 
of the little mosque, who is continually bold in false- 
165 


156 


KHALED 


hood, being the same who sold me this garment for 
linen ; but it afterwards turned out to be cotton, and 
the gold threads are brass and have turned black. I 
pray Allah to be just as well as merciful.” 

At first Zehowah laughed, but soon afterwards her 
face became grave, and she bent her brows, for though 
the story was but a lie, she saw how easily it would 
find credence. She therefore sent the old woman away 
with a gift, and she herself went to K haled, and sat 
down beside him and took his hand. 

“ You have secret enemies,” she said, “who are plot- 
ting against your life, and who have already begun to 
attack you by filling the air of the city with falsehoods 
which fly from house to house like flies in summer 
entering at the window and going out by the door. You 
must sift this matter, for it is worthy of attention.” 

“And what are these lies of which you speak ? ” 

“ It is said openly in the city that you are a Shiyah 
and a Persian, having been a robber before you came 
here, and that you are plotting to deliver over Nejed to 
the Persians. Look to this, K haled, for they say that 
you are no Bedouin, since no one knows your descent 
nor the name of your father.” 

“ Do you believe this of me, Zehowah ? ” Khaled 
asked. 

“ Do I believe that the sun is black and the night as 
white as the sun ? But it is true that 1 do not know 
your father’s name.” 

Then Khaled was troubled, for he saw that it would 
be a hard matter to explain, and that without explana- 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


157 


tion his safety might be endangered. Zehowah sat 
still beside him, holding his hand and looking into his 
face, as though expecting an answer. 

“ Have I done wisely in telling you ? ” she asked at 
last. “ You are troubled. I should have said nothing.” 

“ You have done wisely,” he answered. “ For I will 
go and speak to them, and if they believe me, the mat- 
ter is finished, but if not I have lost nothing.” 

“ It will be well to give the chief men presents, and 
to distribute something among the people, for gifts are 
great persuaders of unbelief.” 

“ Shall I give them presents because they have be- 
lieved evil of me ? ” asked Khaled, laughing. “ Rather 
would I give you the treasures of the whole earth 
because you have not believed it.” 

“If I had the wealth of the whole world I would 
give it to them rather than that they should hurt a hair 
of your head,” Zehowah answered. 

“Am I more dear to you than so much gold, 
Zehowah?” 

“ What is gold that it should be weighed in the 
balance with the life of a man ? You are dearer to me 
than gold.” 

“Is this love, Zehowah?” Khaled asked, in a low 
voice. 

“I do not know whether it be love or not.” 

“ The wing of night is lifted for a moment, and the 
false dawn is seen, and afterwards it is night again. 
But the true dawn will come by and by, when night 
folds her wings before the day.” 


158 


KHALED 


“You speak in a riddle, Khaled.” 

“ It is no matter. I will neither make a speech to 
the people, nor give them gifts. What is it to me ? 
Let them chatter from the first call to prayer until the 
lights are put out in the evening. My fate is about 
my neck, and I cannot change it, any more than I can 
make you love me. Allah is great. I will wait and 
see what happens.” 

“Everything is undoubtedly in Allah’s hand,” said 
Zehowah. “ But if a man, having meat set before him, 
will not raise his right hand to thrust it into the dish, 
he will die of hunger.” 

“ And do you think that Allah does not know before 
whether the man will stretch out his hand or not ? ” 

“Undoubtedly Allah knows. And he also knows 
that if you will not sift this matter and stop the 
mouths of the liars, I will, though I am but a woman, 
for otherwise we may both perish.” 

“If they destroy me, yet they cannot take the 
kingdom from you, nor hurt you,” said Khaled. “ How 
then are you in danger ? If I am slain you will then 
choose a husband, whose father’s name is known to 
them. They will be satisfied and you will be no worse 
off than before and possibly better. This is truth. I 
will therefore wait for the end.” 

“ Who has put these words into your mouth, Khaled ? 
For the thought is not in your heart. Moreover, if 
the tribes should rise up and overflow you, they would 
not spare me, for I would fight against them with my 
hands and they would kill me.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


159 


“Why should you fight for me, since you do not 
love me? But this is folly. No one ever heard of 
a woman taking arms and fighting.” 

“I have heard of such deeds. And if I had not 
heard of them, others should through me, for I would 
be the first to do them.” 

“I think that so long as Khaled lives, Zehowah 
need not bear arms,” said Khaled. “I will therefore 
go and call the chief men together and speak to 
them.” 

And so he did. When the principal officers who had 
remained in the city during the winter season were 
assembled in the kahwah, and had hung up their 
swords on the pegs and partaken of a refreshment, 
Khaled sent the slaves away, and spoke in a few words 
as was his manner. 

“Men of Riad, Aared and all Nejed,” he said, “I 
regret that more of you are not present here, but a 
great number of sheikhs are still in the desert, and it 
cannot be helped. I desire to tell you that I have 
heard of a tale concerning me which is circulated from 
mouth to ear throughout Riad and the whole kingdom. 
This tale is untrue, a lie such as no honest man repeats 
even to his own wife at home in the harem. For it is 
said that I am not called Khaled, but perhaps Ali 
Hassan, or perhaps Ali Hussein, that I am a Shiyah, a 
wine-bibber and an idolatrous one who prays for the 
intercession of Ali, besides being a Persian and a rob- 
ber. It is also said that I plot to deliver over the 
kingdom of Nejed to the Persians, though how this 


KHALED 


‘160 

could be done I do not know, seeing that the Persians 
^are a meal-faced people of white jackals who do not 
know how to ride a camel. These are all lies. I 
swear by Allah.” 

When the men heard these words, they looked 
stealthily one at another, to see who would answer 
Khaled, for they had all heard the story and most of 
them were inclined to believe it. Peace is the mother 
of evil-speaking, as garbage breeds flies in a corner, 
which afterwards fly into clean houses and men ask 
whence they come. But none of the chief men found 
anything to say at first, so that Khaled sat in silence a 
long time, waiting for some one to speak. He there- 
fore turned to the one nearest to him, and addressed 
him. 

“ Have you heard this tale ? ” he inquired. “ And if 
you have heard it do you believe it? ” 

“ I think, indeed, that I have heard something of the 
kind,” answered the man. “ But it was as the chatter- 
ing of an uncertain vision in a dream, which rings in 
the ears for a moment while it is yet dark in the morn- 
ing, but is forgotten when the sun rises. By the in- 
strumentality of a just mind Allah caused that which 
entered at one ear to run out from the other as the 
rinsing of a water-skin.” 

“Good,” answered Khaled. “Yet it is not well 
to rinse the brains with falsehoods. And you ? ” he 
inquired, turning to the next. “Have you heard it 
also?” 

“ Just lord, I have heard,” replied this one. “ But 


A TALE OF ARABIA 



if I have believed, may my head be shaved with a red- 
hot razor having a jagged edge.” ^ 

“ This is well,” Khaled said, and he questioned a 
third. 

“ O Khaled ! ” cried the man. “ Is the milk sour, 
because the slave has imagined a lie saying, ‘ I will say 
it is bad and then it will be given to me to drink’? 
Or is honey bitter because the cook has put salt in the 
sweetmeats? Or is it night because the woman has 
shut the door and the window, to keep out the sun?” 

The next also found an answer, having collected his 
thoughts while the others were speaking. 

“ A certain man,” said he, “ kept sheep in Tabal 
Shammar, and the dog was with the sheep in the fold. 
Then two foxes came to the fold in the evening and 
one of them said to the man : ‘ All dogs are wolves, for 
we have seen their like in the mountains, and your dog 
is also a wolf and will eat up your sheep. Make haste 
to kill him therefore and cast out his carcass.’ And to 
the sheep the other fox said : ‘ How many sheep hang 
by the heels at the butcher’s I And how many dogs 
live in sheepfolds ! This is an evil world for innocent 
people.’ And the sheep were at first persuaded, but 
presently the dog ran out and caught one of the foxes 
and broke his neck, and the man threw a stone at the 
other and hit him, so that he also died. Then the 
sheep said one to another : ‘ The foxes have suffered 
justly, for they were liars and robbers and the dog and 
our master have protected us against them, which they 
would not have done had they desired our destruction.’ 


162 


KHALED 


And so are the people, O Khaled. For if you let the 
liars go unhurt the people will believe them, but if you 
destroy them the faith of the multitude will be turned 
again to you.” 

“ This is a fable,” said Khaled, “ and it is not with- 
out truth. I am the sheep-dog and the people are 
the sheep. But in the name of Allah, which are the 
foxes?” 

Then he turned to another, an old man who was the 
Kadi, celebrated for his wisdom and for his religious 
teaching in the chief mosque. 

“ I ask you last of all,” said Khaled, “ because you 
are the wisest, and when the wisest words are heard 
last they are most easily remembered. For we first 
put water into the lamp, and then oil to float upon the 
surface, and next the wick, and last of all we take a 
torch and light the lamp and the darkness disappears. 
Light our lamp, therefore, O Kadi, and let us see 
clearly.” 

“ O Khaled,” replied the Kadi, “ I am old and have 
seen the world. You cannot destroy the tree by cutting 
off one or two of its branches. It is necessary to strike 
at the root. Now the root of this tree of lies which has 
grown up is this. Neither we nor the people know 
whence you are, nor what was your father’s name, and 
though I for my part do not impiously ask whence 
Allah takes the good gifts which he gives to men, 
there are many who are not satisfied, and wdio will go 
about in jealousy to make trouble until their question- 
ing is answered. If you ask counsel of me, I say, tell 


A TALE OF AEABIA 


163 


US here present of what tribe you are, for we believe 
you a pure Bedouin like the best of us, and tell us your 
father’s name, and peace be upon him. We are men 
in authority and will speak to the people, and I will 
address them from the pulpit of the great mosque, and 
they will believe us. Then all will be ended, and the 
lies will be extinguished as the coals of an evening fire 
go out when the night frost descends upon the camp in 
winter. But if you will not tell us, yet I, for one, do 
not believe ill of you ; and moreover you are lord, and 
we are vassals, so long as you are King and hold good 
and evil in your hand.” 

“ So long as I am King,” Khaled repeated. “ And 
you think that if I do not tell my father’s name, I shall 
not be where I am for a long time.” 

“ Allah is wise, and knows,” answered the Kadi, but 
he would say nothing more. 

“This is plain speaking,” said Khaled, “such as I 
like. But I might plainly take advantage of it. You 
desire to know my father’s name and whence I come. 
Then is it not easy for me to say that I come from a 
distant part of the Great Dahna? Is there a man in 
Nejed who has crossed the Red Desert? And if I say 
that my father was Mohammed ibn Abd el Hamid ibn 
Abd el Latif, and so on to our father Ismail, upon whom 
be peace, shall any one deny that I speak truth ? This 
is a very easy matter.” 

“ So much the more will it be easy for us to satisfy 
the people,” answered the Kadi. 

“No doubt. I will think of what you have said. 


164 


KHALED 


And now, 1 pray you, partake of another refreshment 
and go in peace.” 

At this all the chief men looked one at the other 
again, for they saw that Khaled would not tell them 
what they wished to know. And those of them who 
had doubted the story before now began to believe it. 
But they held their peace, and presently made their 
salutation and took their swords from the wall and 
departed. 

Khaled then left the kahwah and returned to Ze- 
howah in the harem. 

“ I have told them that these tales are lies,” he said, 
“but they do not believe me.” 

He repeated to Zehowah all that had been said, and 
she listened attentively, for she began to understand 
that there was danger not far off. 

“ And I told them,” he said at last, “ that it would 
be as easy for me to invent names, as for them to hear 
them. Then they looked sideways each at the other 
and kept silent.” 

“ This is a foolish thing which you have done,” an- 
swered Zehowah. “They will now all believe that 
your father was an evildoer and that you yourself are 
no better. Otherwise, they will say, why should he 
wish to conceal anything ? You should have told them 
the truth, whatever it is.” 

“ You also wish to know it, I see,” said Khaled, look- 
ing at Zehowah curiously. “ But if I were to tell you, 
you would not believe me, I think, any more than they 
would.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


165 


Then Zehowah looked at him in her turn, but he 
could not understand the language of her eyes. 

“ What is this secret of yours ? ” she asked. “ I 
would indeed like to hear it, and if you swear to me 
that it is true, by Allah, I will believe you. For you 
are a very truthful man, and not subtle.” 

But Khaled was troubled at this. For he knew that 
she would find it hard to believe ; and that if she did 
believe it, she would be terrified to think that she had 
married one of the genii, and if not, she would suspect 
him of a hidden purpose in telling her an empty fable, 
and he would then be further from her love than before. 
He held his peace, therefore, for some time, while she 
watched him, playing with her beads. In reality she 
was very curious to know the truth, though she had 
always been unwilling to ask it of him, seeing that she 
had married him as a stranger, of her own will and 
choice, without inquiry. 

“Is it just,” she asked at last, “that the people 
should accuse you of evil deeds and fill the air of the 
city with falsehoods concerning you, so that the very 
slaves hear the guards repeating the lies to each other 
in the courtyard, and that I, who am your wife, should 
not know the truth? What have I done that you 
should not trust me ? Or what have I said that you 
should regard me no more than a slave who sprinkles 
the floor and makes the fire, and while she is present 
in the room you hold your peace lest she should know 
your thoughts and betray them ? Am I not your wife, 
and faithful ? Have I not given you a kingdom and 


166 


KHALED 


treasure beyond counting? Surely there were times 
when you talked more freely with that barbarian slave- 
woman, whose hair was red, than you ever talk with 
me.” 

“This is not true,” said Khaled. “And if I talked 
familiarly with Almasta, you know the reason, for you 
yourself found it out, and called me simple for trying 
to deceive you. And now she is gone to the desert 
with her husband and there is no more question of her, 
or her red hair. But all the rest is true, and you have 
indeed given me a kingdom, which I am likely to lose 
and wealth which I do not desire, though you have not 
given me that which I covet more than gold or king- 
doms, for I desire it indeed, and that is your love. 
Moreover if you have given me the rest, I have done 
something in return, for I have fought for your people, 
and shed my blood freely, and given you a nation cap- 
tive, besides loving you and refusing to take another 
wife into my house. And this last is a matter of which 
some women would think more highly than you.” 

But Zehowah’s curiosity was burning within her like 
a thirst, for although she had at first cared little to 
know of Khaled’s former life, she was astonished at his 
persistency in keeping the secret now, seeing that the 
whole country was full of false rumours about him. 

“ How can a man expect that a woman should love 
him, if he will not put his trust in her ? ” she asked. 

Then Khaled did not hesitate any longer, for he was 
never slow to do anything by which there seemed to be 
any hope of gaining her love. He therefore took her 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


167 


hand in his, and it trembled a little so that he was 
pleased, though indeed the unsteadiness came more 
from her anxiety to know the story he was about to 
tell, than from any love she felt at that moment. 

“You have sworn that you will believe me, Ze- 
howah,” he said. “ But I forewarn you that there are 
hard things to understand. For the reason why I will 
not tell my father’s name, nor the name of my tribe is 
a plain one, seeing that I was not born like other men, 
and have no father at all, and my brethren are not men 
but genii of the air, created from the beginning and 
destined to die at the second blast of the trumpet be- 
fore the resurrection of the dead.” 

At this Zehowah started suddenly in fright and 
looked into his face, expecting to see that he had coals 
of fire for eyes and an appalling countenance. But 
when she saw that he was not changed and had the 
face of a man and the eyes of a man, she laughed. 

“ What is this idle tale of Afrits ? ” she exclaimed. 
“Frighten children with it.” 

“This is what I foresaw in you,” said Khaled. 
“ You cannot believe me. Of what use is it then to 
tell you my story ? ” 

Zehowah answered nothing, for she was angry, sup- 
posing that Khaled was attempting to put her off with 
a foolish tale. She had heard, indeed, of Genii and 
Afrits and she was sure that they had existence, since 
they were expressly mentioned in the Koran, but she 
had never heard that any of them had taken the shape 
and manner of a man. She remembered also how 


168 


KHALED 


Khaled had always fought with his hands in war, like 
other men and been wounded, and she was sure that if 
his story were true he would have summoned whole 
legions of his fellows through the air to destroy the 
enemy. 

“ You do not believe me,” he repeated somewhat 
bitterly. “ And if you do not believe me, how shall 
others do so ? ” 

“ You ask me to believe too much. If you ask for 
my faith, you must offer me truths and not fables. It 
is true that I am curious, which is foolish and womanly. 
But if you do not wish to tell me your secret, I cannot 
force you to do so, nor have I any right to expect con- 
fidence. Let us therefore talk of other things, or else 
not talk at all, for though you will not satisfy me you 
cannot deceive me in this way.” 

“So you also believe that I am a Persian and a 
robber,” said Khaled. “ Is it not so ? ” 

“ How can I tell what you are, if you will not tell 
me ? Is your name written in your face that I may 
know it is indeed Khaled and not Ali Hassan as the 
people say ? Or is the record of your deeds inscribed 
upon your forehead for me to read ? You may be a 
Persian. I cannot tell.” 

Then Khaled bent his brows and turned his eyes 
away from her, for he was angry and disappointed, 
though indeed she knew in her heart that he was no 
Persian. But she let him suppose that she thought 
so, hoping perhaps to goad him into satisfying her 
curiosity. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


169 


If Khaled had been a man like other men, as Ze- 
howah supposed him to be, he would doubtless have 
invented a well-framed history such as she would have 
believed, at least for the present. But to him such a 
falsehood appeared useless, for he had seen the world 
during many ages and had observed that a lie is never 
really successful except by chance, seeing that no in- 
telligence is profound enough to foresee the manner 
in which it will be some day examined, whereas the 
truth, being always coincident with the reality, can 
never be wholly refuted. 

Khaled therefore hesitated as to whether he should 
tell his story from the beginning, or hold his peace ; 
but in the end he decided to speak, because it was 
intolerable to him to be thought an evildoer by her. 

“ You make haste to disbelieve, before you have 
heard all,” he said at last. “ Hear me to the end. I 
have told you that I slew the Indian prince. That 
was before I became a man. You yourself could not 
understand how I was able to enter the palace and 
carry him away without being observed. But as I 
was at that time able to fly and to make both myself 
and him invisible, this need not surprise you. If you 
do not believe that I did it, let us order a litter to be 
brought for you, and I will take my mare and a suffi- 
cient number of attendants, and let us ride southwards 
into the Red Desert. There I will show you the 
man’s bones. You will probably recognize them by 
the gold chain which he wore about his neck and by 
his ring. After that, when I had buried him, the mes- 


170 


KHALED 


senger of Allah came to me, and because the man was 
an unbeliever, and had intended to embrace the faith 
outwardly, having evil in his heart, Allah did not 
destroy me immediately, but commanded that the angel 
Asrael should write my name in the book of life, that I 
might become a man. But Allah gave me no soul, 
promising only that if I could win your love, whose 
suitor I had killed, I should receive an immortal spirit, 
which should then be judged according to my deeds. 
This is truth. I swear it in the name of Allah, the 
merciful, the compassionate. Then an angel gave me 
garments such as men wear, and a sword, and a good 
mare, and I travelled hither to Riad, eating locusts for 
food. And though no man knew me, you married me 
at once, for it was the will of Allah, whose will shall 
also be done to the end. The rest you know. If, 
therefore, you will love me before I die, I shall receive 
a soul and it may be that I shall inherit paradise, for I 
am a true believer and have shed blood for the faith. 
But if you do not love me, when I die I shall perish as 
the flame of a lamp that is blown out at dawn. This is 
the truth.” 

He ceased from speaking and looked again at Ze- 
howah. At first he supposed from her face that she 
believed him, and his heart was comforted, but pres- 
ently she smiled, and he understood that she was not 
convinced. For the story had interested her greatly 
and she had almost forgotten not to believe it, but 
when she no longer heard his voice, it seemed too hard 
for her. 


A TALE OP ARABIA 


171 


“ This is a strange tale,” she said, “ and it will prob- 
ably not satisfy the people.” 

“ I do not care whether they are satisfied or not,” 
Khaled answered. “ All I desire is to be believed by 
you, for I cannot bear that you should think me what 
I am not.” 

“ What can I do ? I cannot say to my intelligence, 
take this and reject that, any more than I can say to 
my heart, love or love not. It would indeed have 
been easier if you had said, ‘ I am a certain Persian, 
a fugitive, protect me, for my enemies are upon me.’ 
I could perhaps give you protection if you require it, 
as you may. But you come to me with a monstrous 
tale, and you ask me to love, not a man, but a Jinn or 
an Afrit, or whatever it pleases you to call yourself. 
Assuredly this is too hard for me.” 

And again Zehowah smiled scornfully, for she was 
really beginning to think that he might be a Persian 
disguised as the people said. 

“ I need no protection from man or woman,” said 
Khaled, “ for I fear neither the one nor the other. 
For I am strong, and if I am able to give out of 
charity I am also able to take by force. My fate is 
ever with me. I cannot escape it. But neither can 
others escape theirs. I will fight alone if need be, 
for if you will not love me I care little how I may 
end. Moreover, in battle, it is not good to stand in 
the way of a man who seeks death.” 

But Zehowah thought this might be the speech of 
a desperate man such as Ali Hassan, the robber, as 


172 


KHALED 


well as of Khaled, the Jinn, and she was not convinced, 
though she no longer smiled. For she knew little of 
supernatural beings, and a devil might easily call him- 
self a good spirit, so that she was convinced that she 
was married either to a demon or to a dangerous robber, 
and she could not even decide which of the two she 
would have preferred, for either was bad enough, and 
as for love there could no longer be any question of 
that. 

Khaled understood well enough and rose from his 
seat and went away, desiring to be alone. He knew 
that he was now surrounded by danger on every side 
and that he could not even look to his wife for com- 
fort, since she also believed him to be an impostor. 

“ Truly,” he said to himself, “ this is a task beyond 
accomplishment, which Allah has laid upon me. It 
is harder to get a woman’s love than to win king- 
doms, and it is easier to destroy a whole army with 
one stroke of a sword than to make a woman believe 
that which she does not desire. And now the end is 
at hand. For she will never love me and I shall 
certainly perish in this fight, being alone against so 
many. Allah assuredly did not intend me to run 
away, and moreover there is no reason left for remain- 
ing alive.” 

On that day Khaled again called the chief men 
together in his kahwah, and addressed them briefly. 

“ Men of Riad,” he said, ‘‘ I am aware that there 
is a conspiracy to overthrow and destroy me, and I 
daresay that you yourselves are among the plotters. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


173 


I will not tell you who I am, but I swear by Allah 
that I am neither a Persian nor a robber, nor yet a 
Shiyah. You will doubtless attack me unawares, but 
you will not find me sleeping. I will kill as many 
of you as I can, and afterwards I also shall un- 
doubtedly be killed, for I am alone and you have 
many thousands on your side. Min Allah — it is in 
Allah’s hands. Go in peace.” 

So they departed, shaking their heads, but saying 
nothing. 


CHAPTER X 


The Sheikh of the beggars was an old man, blind 
from his childhood, but otherwise strong and full of 
health, delighting in quarrels and swift to handle his 
staff. He had at first become a beggar, being still a 
young man, for his father and mother had died without 
making provision for him, and he had no brothers. 
As he boasted that he was of the pure blood of the 
desert on both sides, the other beggars jeered at him 
in the beginning, calling him Ibn el Sheikh in de- 
rision and sometimes stealing his food from him. 
But he beat them mightily, the just and the unjust 
together, since he could not see, and acquired great 
consideration amongst them, after which he behaved 
generousljq giving his share with the rest for the 
common good, and something more. His companions 
learned also that his story was true and that his 
blood was as good as any from Ajman To El Kara, for 
a Bedouin of the same tribe as Abdullah, the husband 
of Almasta, came to see him not less than once every 
year, and called him brother and filled his sack with 
barley. This Bedouin was a person of consideration, 
also, as the beggars saw from his having a mare of 
his own, provided with a good saddle, and from his 
weapons. In the course of time therefore the blind 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


1T5 


man grew great in the eyes of his fellows, until they 
called him Sheikh respectfully, and waited on him 
when he performed his ablutions, and he obtained 
over them a supremacy as great as was Khaled’s over 
the kingdom he governed. He was very wise also, 
acquainted with the interpretation of dreams, and able 
to recite various chapters of the Koran. It was even 
said that he was able to distinguish a good man from 
a bad by the sound of his tread, though some thought 
that he only heard the jingling of coins in the girdle, 
and judged by this, having a finer hearing than other 
men. At all events he was often aware that a person 
able to give alms was approaching, while his com- 
panions were talking among themselves and noticed 
nothing, though they had eyes to see, being mostly 
only cripples and lepers. 

On a certain day in the spring, when the sun was 
beginning to be hot and not long after Khaled had told 
Zehowah his story, many of the beggars were sitting 
in the eastern gate, by which the great road issues out 
of the city towards Hasa. They expected the coming of 
the first pilgrims every day, for the season was advanc- 
ing. And now they sat talking together of the good 
prospects before them, and rejoicing that the winter was 
over so that they would not suffer any more from the 
cold. 

“ There is a horseman on the road,” said the Sheikh 
of the beggars, interrupting the conversation. “ O 
you to whom Allah has preserved the light of day, look 
forth and tell me who the rider is.” 


176 


KHALED 


“It is undoubtedly a pilgrim,” answered a young beg- 
gar, who was a stranger but had found his way to Riad 
without legs, no man knew how. 

“Ass of Egypt,” replied the Sheikh, reprovingly, 
“do pilgrims ride at a full gallop upon steeds of pure 
blood? But though your eyes are open your ears are 
deaf with the sleep of stupidity from which there is no 
awakening. That is a good horse, ridden by a light 
rider. Truly a man must itch to be called Haji who 
gallops thus on the road to Mecca.” 

Then the others looked, and at last one of them 
spoke, a hunchback having but one eye, but that one 
was keen. 

“ O Sheikh,” he said, “ rejoice and praise Allah, for I 
think it is he whom you call your brother, who comes 
in from the desert to visit you.” 

“If that is the case, I will indeed give thanks,” 
answered the blind man, “ for there is little in my 
barley-sack, less in my wallet and nothing at all in my 
stomach. Allah is gracious and compassionate ! ” 

The hunchback’s eye had not deceived him, and 
before long the Bedouin dismounted at the gate and 
looked about until he saw the Sheikh of the beggars, 
who indeed had already risen to welcome him. When 
they had embraced, the Bedouin led the blind man 
along in the shadow of the eastern wall until they 
were so far from the rest that they might freely talk 
without being overheard. Then they sat down to- 
gether, and the mare stood waiting before them. 

“ O my brother,” the Bedouin began, “ was not my 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


177 


mother the adopted daughter of your uncle, upon whom 
be peace ? And have I not called you brother and filled 
your barley-sack from time to time these many years ? ” 

“ This is true,” answered the Sheikh of the beggars. 
“ Allah will requite you with seventy thousand days of 
unspeakable bliss for every grain of barley you have 
caused to pass my teeth. ‘ Be constant in prayer and 
in giving alms,’ says the holy book, ‘and you shall 
find with Allah all the good which you have sent 
before you, for your souls.’ And it is also said, ‘ Give 
alms to your kindred, and to the poor and to orphans.’ 
I am also grateful for all you have done, and my grati- 
tude grows as a palm tree in the garden of my soul 
which is irrigated by your charity.” 

“It is well, my brother, it is well. I know the 
uprightness of your heart, and I have not ridden 
hither from the desert to count the treasure which 
may be in store for me in paradise. Allah knows the 
good, as well as the evil. I have come for another 
purpose. But tell me first, what is the news in the 
city? Are there no strange rumours afloat of late 
concerning Khaled the Sultan ? ” 

“In each man’s soul there are two wells,” said the 
blind man. “ The one is the spring of truth, the other 
is the fountain of lies.” 

“You are wise and full of years,” said the Bedouin, 
“and I understand your caution, for I also am not 
very young. But here we must speak plainly, for the 
time is short in which to act. A sand-storm has 
darkened the eyes of the men of the desert and they 


178 


KHALED 


are saying that Khaled is a Shiyah, a Persian and a 
robber, and that he must be overthrown and a man of 
our own people made king in his stead.” 

“ I have indeed heard such a rumour.” 

“ It is more than a rumour. The tribes are even 
now assembling towards Riad, and before many days 
are past the end will come. Abdullah is the chief 
mover in this. But with your help, my brother, we 
will make his plotting empty and his scheming fruit- 
less as a twig of ghada stuck into the sand, which will 
neither strike root nor bear leaves.” 

When the Sheikh of the beggars heard that he was 
expected to give help in frustrating Abdullah’s plans 
he was troubled and much astonished. 

“Shall the blind sheep go out and fight the lion?” 
he inquired tremulously. 

“ Even so,” replied the Bedouin, unmoved, “ and, 
moreover, without danger to himself. Hear me first. 
Abdullah and his tribe will encamp in the low hills, in 
a few days, as usual, but somewhat earlier than in 
other years, and a great number of other Bedouins 
will be in the neighbouring valleys at the same time. 
Then Abdullah will come into the city openly and go 
to his house with his wife and slaves, and during 
several days he will receive the visits of his friends and 
return them, and go to the palace and salute Khaled, 
as though nothing were about to happen. But in the 
meantime he will make everything ready, for it is his 
intention to go into the palace at night, disguised in 
a woman’s garment, with his wife, and they will slay 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


179 


Khaled in his sleep, and bind Zehowah, and distribute 
much treasure among the guards and slaves, and before 
morning the city will be full of Bedouins all ready to 
proclaim Abdullah Sultan. And you alone can prevent 
all this.” 

But the blind man laughed in his beard. 

“ This is a good jest ! ” he cried. “ You have sought 
out a valiant warrior to stand between the Sultan and 
death ! I am blind and old, and a beggar, and you 
would have me stand in the path of Abdullah and a 
thousand armed men. They would certainly laugh, as 
I do. Let me take with me a few lepers and the 
Egyptian jackass without legs, who has flown among 
us lately like a locust out of the clear air. Verily, their 
strength shall avail against the lances of the desert.” 

“ This is no jest, my brother,” answered the Bedouin, 
gravely. “Neither I, nor a hundred armed horsemen 
with me, could do what you will do unhurt. But I 
will save Khaled. For in the battle of the pass before 
we came to Hail last summer when I had an arrow 
in my right arm and a spear thrust in my side, certain 
dogs of Shammars encompassed me, and darkness was 
already descending upon my eyes when Khaled rode 
in like a whirlwind of scythes, and sent four of them 
to hell, where they are now drinking molten brass like 
thirsty camels. Then I swore by Allah that I would 
defend him in the hour of need.” 

“ Why do you not then lie in wait for Abdullah 
yourself and slay him as he passes you in the dark ? ” 

“ Is he not the sheikh of my tribe ? How then can 


180 


KHALED 


I lay a hand on him? But I have thought of this 
during many nights in my tent, and you alone can do 
what is needed.” 

“ Surely this is folly,” said the Sheikh of the beggars. 
“ You have met a hot wind in the desert and your mind 
is unsettled by it. I pray you come with me into the 
city to my dwelling, and take some refreshment, or at 
least let me send to the well for a drink of water.” 

“ My head is cool and I am not thirsty, nor is the 
hot wind blowing at this time of year. Hear me. I 
will tell you how to save Khaled from destruction, and 
you shall receive more gold than you have dreamed of, 
and a house, and rich garments, and a young wife of a 
good family to comfort your old age. For the deed is 
easy and safe, but the reward will be great, and you 
alone can do the one and earn the other.” 

“ I perceive,” said the blind man, “ that you are 
indeed in earnest, but I cannot understand what I can 
do. We know that Khaled is forewarned, for it is not 
many days since he summoned the chief men in Riad, 
with the Kadi, to the palace, and refused to tell them 
the name of his father, but said that if they attacked 
him he would kill as manj’ of them as he could.” 

“I did not know this,” answered the Bedouin. 
“But the knowledge does not change my plan. Now 
hear me. You are the Sheikh of all the beggars in 
Riad — may Allah send you long life and much gain 
— they are an army and you are a captain. Moreover 
the beggars are doubtless attached to Khaled by his 
generosity, and all of you say in your hearts that under 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


181 


Abdullah there may be more sticks and less barley for 
you.” 

“ This is true. But then, my brother, it is otherwise 
with you, for you are of Abdullah’s tribe and will have 
honour and riches if he is made Sultan. How then is 
my advantage also yours ? ” 

“And did not this Abdullah in the first place divorce 
with ignominy his second wife, who is my kinswoman, 
being the daughter of my father’s sister? And has he 
restored the dowry as the law commands ? Truly his 
new wife is even now sitting upon my cousin’s carpet. 
And secondly Abdullah made himself sheikh unjustly, 
for our sheikh should be Abdul Kerim’s son.” 

“ Yet you accepted Abdullah and promised him alle- 
giance.” 

“ Does the camel say to his driver : ‘ I do not like 
to carry a load of barley, I would rather bear a basket 
of dates’? ‘Eat what you please in your tent, but 
dress as other men,’ says the proverb. Hear me, for I 
speak wisdom. Abdullah will come into the city and 
go to his house, intending to prepare the way for evil. 
And he will walk about the streets as usual, without 
attendants, both because he knows that the people are 
mostly with him, and also in order not to attract notice. 
Now Abdullah is the spring from which all this wick- 
edness flows, he is the chief camel whom the others 
follow, the coal in the ashes by which the fire is kept 
alive, the head without which the body cannot live. 
Dry up the spring, therefore, let the chief camel fall 
into a pit suddenly, extinguish the coal, strike off the 


182 


KHALED 


head. Let them ask in the morning : ‘ Where is he ? ’ 
And let him not be found anywhere. Then the people 
will be amazed and will not know what to do, having no 
leader. This is for you to do, and it can easily be done.” 

“What folly is this?” asked the blind man, shaking 
his head. “ And how can I do what you wish ? ” 

“ It is very easy, for I know that you and your com- 
panions are as one man, living together for the common 
good. Go to the beggars therefore and tell them what 
I have told you, and be not afraid, for they will not 
betray you. And when Abdullah w'alks about the city 
alone lie in wait for him, for you will easily catch him 
in a narrow street, and two or three score of you can 
run after him begging for alms, until he is surrounded 
on all sides. Then fall upon him, and bind him, and 
take him secretly to one of your dwellings and keep 
him there, so that none find him, until the storm is 
past. In this way you will save Khaled and the king- 
dom, and when all is quiet you can deliver him up to 
be a laughing-stock at the palace and to all who 
believed in him. For there is nothing to fear, and I, 
for my part, am sure that Abdul Kerim’s son will 
immediately be made sheikh of our tribe so that Ab- 
dullah will not return to us.” 

“ You are subtle, my brother,” said the Sheikh of the 
beggars, smiling and stroking his beard. “ This is a 
good plan, being very simple, and Khaled will be grate- 
ful to us, and honour us beggars exceedingly. Said I 
not well that the jest was good ? Surely it is better 
than I had thought, and more profitable.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


183 


“ I have thought of it long in the nights of winter, 
both by the camp fire and in my tent and on the march. 
But I have told no one, nor will tell any one until all 
is done. But so soon as you have taken Abdullah and 
hidden him, let me know of it. To this end, when we 
are encamped outside the city I will come every even- 
ing to prayers in the great mosque and afterwards will 
wait for you near the door. As soon as I know that 
Abdullah is out of finding I will spread the report that 
he is lost, and before long all our tribe will give up the 
search, being indeed glad to get rid of him. And the 
rest is in the hand of Allah. I have done what I can, 
you must now do your share.” 

“By Allah! You shall not complain of me,” an- 
swered the blind man, “nor of my people, for the jest 
is surpassingly good, and shall be well carried out.” 

“ I will therefore go into the city, where I have 
business,” said the Bedouin. “ For I gave a reason for 
coming alone to Riad, and must needs show myself 
there to those who know me.” 

So the Bedouin filled the blind beggar’s sack with 
barley and dates from his own supply and embraced 
him and went into the city, but the Sheikh of the 
beggars remained sitting in the same place for some 
time, at a distance from the rest, in an attitude of 
inward contemplation, though he was in reality listen- 
ing to what the hunchback was telling the new cripple 
from Egypt. The Sheikh’s ears were sharper than 
those of other men and he heard very clearly what 
was said. 


184 


KHALED 


“This Bedouin,” said the hunchback, “is a near 
relation of our Sheikh, and holds him in great venera- 
tion, coming frequently to see him even from a con- 
siderable distance, and always bringing him a present 
of food. And you may see by his mare and by his 
weapons that he is a person of consideration in his 
tribe. For our Sheikli is not a negro, nor the son of a 
Syrian camel-driver, but an Arab of the best blood in 
the desert, and wise enough to sit in the council in the 
Sultan’s palace. You, who are but lately arrived, 
being transported into our midst by the mercy of 
Allah, must learn all these things, and you will also 
find out that our Sheikh has eyes in his ears, and in 
his fingers and in his staff, though he is counted blind, 
and you cannot deceive him easily as you might sup- 
pose.” 

The Sheikh of the beggars was pleased when he 
heard this and listened attentively to hear the answer 
made by the Egyptian, whom he did not yet trust 
because he was a newcomer and a stranger. 

“ Truly,” replied the cripple, “ Allah has been merci- 
ful and compassionate to me, for he has brought me 
into the society of the wise and the good, which is 
better than much feasting in the company of the 
ignorant and the ill-mannered. And as for the Sheikh, 
he is evidently a very holy man, to whom eyes are not 
in any way necessary, his inward sight being con- 
stantly fixed upon heavenly things.” 

This answer did not altogether please the blind man, 
for it savoured somewhat of flattery. But the other 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


185 


beggars approved of the speech, deeming that it 
showed a submissive spirit, and readiness to obey and 
respect their chief. 

“ O you of Egypt ! ” cried the Sheikh, calling to 
him. “ Come here and sit beside me, for I have heard 
what you said and desire your company.” 

The cripple immediately began to crawl along by 
the wall, dragging himself upon his hands and body, 
for he had no legs. 

“He is obedient,” thought the blind man, “though 
it costs him much labour to move.” 

When the man was beside him, the Sheikh took an 
onion and a date from his wallet and set them down 
upon the ground. 

“ Eat,” he said, “and give thanks.” 

The cripple thanked him and taking the food, be- 
gan to eat the onion. 

“You have taken the onion in your right hand and 
the date in your left,” said the Sheikh. “ And you are 
eating the onion first.” 

“ This is true,” answered the Egyptian. “ I see that 
my lord has indeed eyes in his fingers.” 

“ I have,” said the Sheikh. “ But that is not all, 
for this is an allegory. All men like to eat the onion 
first and the date afterwards, for though the onion be 
ever so sweet and tender, its taste is bitter when a 
man has eaten sugar-dates before it. But you have 
begun by giving us the mellow fruit of flattery, and 
when you give us the wholesome vegetable of truth it 
will be too sharp for our palates. Ponder this in your 


186 


KHALED 


heart, chew it as the camel does her cud, and the well- 
digested food of wisdom shall nourish your under- 
standing.” 

The cripple listened in astonishment at the depth 
of the Sheikh’s thought, and he would have spoken 
out his admiration, but it is not possible to eat an 
onion and to be eloquent at the same time. The blind 
man knew this and continued to give him instruc- 
tion. 

“The onion has saved you,” he said, “for your 
mouth being full you could say nothing flattering, 
and now you will think before you speak. Consider 
how I have treated you. Have I at once rendered 
thanks to Allali for sending into our midst a young 
man whose gifts of eloquence are at least equal to 
those of . the Kadi himself ? I have said nothing so 
foolish. I have called you an ass of Egypt and other- 
wise rebuked you, for the good of your understanding, 
though I begin to think that you are indeed a very 
estimable young man, and it is possible that your wit 
may ripen in our society. But now I perceive by my 
hearing that you are eating the date. I pray you 
now, eat another onion after it.” 

“ I cannot,” answered the cripple, “ for my lips are 
puckered at the thought of it.” 

“Neither is truth sweet after flattery,” said the 
Sheikh, who then began to eat the other onion him- 
self. 

“ I will endeavour to profit by your precepts, my 
lord,” replied the Egyptian. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


187 


“Allah will then certainly enlighten you, my son. 
Remember also another thing. We are ourselves here 
a community, distinct from the citizens of Riad, and 
what we do, we do for the common good. Remember 
therefore to share what you receive with the rest, as 
they will share what they have with you, and take 
part with them in whatsoever is done by common con- 
sent. In this way it will be well with you and you 
shall grow fat ; but if you are against us you will find 
evil in every man’s hand, for since it has pleased Allah 
to give you no legs, you cannot possibly run away.” 

Having said this much the Sheikh of the beggars 
was silent. But afterwards on the same day he 
gathered about him the strongest of his companions, 
being mostly men who had the use of both arms and 
both legs, though some of them were lepers and some 
had but one eye, and some were deaf and dumb, ac- 
cording to the affliction which it had pleased Allah 
to send upon each. These were the most trusty and 
faithful of his people, and to them he communicated 
openly what the Bedouin had proposed to him in 
secret. All of them approved the plan, for they 
greatly feared the overthrow of Khaled. 

“ But,” said one, “ we cannot keep this Abdullah for 
ever, and we can surely not kill him, for we should 
bring upon ourselves a grievous punishment.” 

“Allah forbid that we should shed blood,” replied 
the Sheikh. “ But when Abdul Kerim’s son is made 
sheikh of the tribe, Abdullah will probably not wish 
to go back to his people. Moreover it shall be for 


188 


KHALED 


Khaled to judge what shall be done to the man, and 
he will probably cut off his head. But in the mean- 
time it is necessary to choose amongst us spies, two 
for each gate of the city, to the number of twenty-two 
men, to watch for Abdullah. For we do not know 
when he will come, and of the two spies who see him 
enter, both must follow him and see whither he goes, 
and then the one will immediately inform all the rest 
while the other waits for him. From the time he 
enters the city he will not be able to go anywhere with- 
out our knowledge, and we shall certainly catch him one 
day towards dusk in some narrow street of the city.” 

The beggars saw that this plan was wise and safe for 
themselves, and they did as the Sheikh advised, posting 
men at all the gates to wait for Abdullah. He was, 
indeed, not far distant, and before many days he rode 
into the city towards evening, attended by a few slaves 
and two Bedouins, his wife Almasta riding in the midst 
of them upon a camel. His face was not hidden and 
the two beggars who were watching recognised him 
immediately. They both followed him, until he entered 
his own house, and then the one sat down in the street 
to watch until he should come out, asking alms of 
those who accompanied him, until they also went in, 
with the beasts. But the other made haste to find the 
Sheikh and to inform him that Abdullah had come and 
was now in his own dwelling. 

“ It is well,” said the blind man. “ The cat is now 
asleep, and dreams of mice, but he shall wake in the 
midst of dogs. Abdullah will not leave his house 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


189 


to-night, for it is late, and though he is not afraid in 
the day-time, he will not go out much at night, lest a 
secret messenger from Khaled, bearing evil in his hand, 
should meet him by the way. But to-morrow before 
dawn, some of us will wait in the neighbourhood of his 
house, and two or three score of others feigning to be all 
blind, as I am, must always be near at hand, watching 
us. We will then begin to importune him for alms, 
flattering him with fine language, as though we knew 
his plans. And this we will do continually, when he 
is abroad, until one day to escape from us he will turn 
quickly into a narrow street, supposing that we cannot 
see him. For he will not wish to be pursued by our 
cries in the bazaar lest he be obliged for shame to give 
something to each. Then those who can see will open 
their eyes and we will catch him in the lane, and bind 
rags over his head so that he cannot cry out, and lead 
him away to my dwelling by the Yemamah gate. And 
if any meet us by the way and inquire whom we are 
taking with us, we will say that he is one of ourselves, 
who is an epileptic and has fallen down in a fit, and 
that we are taking him to the farrier’s by the gate, to 
be burned with red-hot irons for his recovery, as the 
physicians recommend in such cases. Surely we have 
now foreseen most things, but if we have forgotten any- 
thing, Allah will doubtless provide.” 

All the beggars in council approved this plan, for 
they saw that it could be easily carried out, if they 
could only catch Abdullah in a lonely street at the 
hour of prayer when few persons are passing. 


190 


KHALED 


But Abdullah himself was ignorant of the evil in 
store for him, and feared nothing, having been secretly 
informed that most of the better sort of people were 
ready to support him if he would strike the blow ; for 
they suspected Khaled of being a traitor, especially 
since he had last addressed the chief men and refused 
to tell the name of his father. Abdullah therefore 
came and went openly in the city. 

In the meantime, however, Khaled was informed of 
his presence and was warned of the danger. The aged 
Kadi came secretly by night to the palace and desired 
to be received by the Sultan in order to communicate 
to him news of great importance, as he said. Khaled 
immediately received him, and the Kadi proceeded to 
give a full account of Abdullah’s designs ; but the 
Sultan expressed no astonishment. 

“ Let him do what he will,” he answered, “ for I care 
little and, after all, what must be will be.” 

“But I beseech you to consider,” said the Kadi, 
“that by acting promptly you could easily quell this 
revolution, in which I, by Allah, have no part and will 
have none. For though many persons may just now 
desire your overthrow, because they expect to get a 
share of the treasure in the confusion, yet few are dis- 
posed to accept such a man as Abdullah ibn Mohammed 
el Herir in your place. Even his own tribe are not all 
faithful to him, and I am credibly informed that many 
look upon him as an intruder, and would prefer the son 
of Abdul Kerim for sheikh, as would be just, if the 
rights of birth were considered. And it would be an 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


191 


easy matter to remove this Abdullah. I implore you 
to think of the matter.” 

“ W ould this not be a murder ? ” asked Khaled, 
looking curiously at the venerable preacher. 

“Allah is merciful and forgiving,” replied the old 
man, looking down and stroking his beard. “And 
moreover, if you suffer Abdullah to go about a few 
days longer he will certainly destroy you, whereas it is 
an easy matter to give him a cup of such good drink 
as will save him from thirst ever afterwards, and you 
would obtain quiet and the kingdom would be at 
peace.” 

“ They shall not find me sleeping,” said Khaled, “ and 
so that I may only slay a score of them first, I care 
not how soon I perish.” 

“ This is indeed a new kind of madness ! ” exclaimed 
the Kadi. “ I cannot understand it. But I have done 
what I could, and I can do nothing more.” 

“Nor is there anything more to be done,” said 
Khaled. “But I thank you, for it is clear that you 
have spoken from a good intention.” 

So the Kadi went away again, and Khaled re- 
turned to Zehowah, caring not at all whether he 
lived or died. But Zehowah began to watch him 
narrowly. 

“ If this man were a Persian, an enemy and a traitor,” 
she thought, “ he would now begin to take measures for 
his own safety, seeing that he is threatened on every 
side. Yet he does not lift a hand to defend himself. 
This can proceed only from one of two causes. Either 


192 


KHALED 


he is a Jinn, as he has told me, and they cannot kill 
him, and so he does not fear them ; or else he desires 
death, out of a sort of madness which has grown 
up in him through this love of which he is always 
speaking.” 


CHAPTER XI 


In these days many of the Bedouin tribes came near 
the city and encamped in great numbers within half 
a day’s journey and less. Abdullah was exceedingly 
busy with his preparations, and spent much time in 
talking with other sheikhs, hardly making any con- 
cealment of his movements or plans. For by this 
time it seemed clear to him that the greater part of 
the people were with him, and every one spoke of 
the coming overthrow of K haled as an open matter. 
Khaled himself, too, was reported to be in fear of his 
life, and he was no longer seen in the streets as 
formerly, nor in the courts of the palace, nor even 
every day in the hall, but remained shut up in the 
harem, and none saw him except the women and .a 
few slaves. Men said aloud that he was in great fear 
and distress, and as this story gained credence, so 
Abdullah’s importance increased, since it was he who 
had brought such terror upon Khaled. All this was 
open talk in the bazaar, but Abdullah was himself some- 
what suspicious, supposing that Khaled must have a 
plan in reserve for defending his possession of the 
throne. Abdullah, however, kept secret the manner 
in which he intended to enter the palace, though he 
promised his adherents to open to them the gates of 
o 193 


194 


K HALED 


the castle, and the doors of the treasure chambers on 
a certain day, which he named, at the time of the first 
call to prayer in the morning, warning all those who 
were with him to come together in the great square 
before that hour in order to be ready to help him, if 
necessary, and to overwhelm the guards of the palace 
if they should make any resistance. But he did not 
know that the man of his tribe who was kinsman to 
the chief of the beggars had overheard his talk with 
his wife. 

Meanwhile the beggars seemed to be multiplied ex- 
ceedingly in Riad, for whenever Abdullah went out 
of his house they came upon him, sometimes by twos 
and threes and sometimes in scores, pressing close to 
him and begging alms. They also cried out a great 
deal, praising his generosity and praying for blessings 
upon him. 

“ Behold the sheikh of sheikhs ! ” they exclaimed. 
“ He bears gold in his right hand and silver in his left. 
Yallah ! Send him a long life and prosperity, for he 
loves the poor and his name is the Alms-giver. He 
is not El Herir but Er Rahman and his heart over- 
flows with mercy as his purse does with small coins. 
Come, O brothers, and taste of his charity, which is a 
perpetual spring of good water beside a palm tree full 
of sugar-dates ! Ya Abdullah, Servant of Allah, we 
love you! You are our father and mother. Your 
kefiyeh is the banner which goes before our pilgrimage. 
Come, O brothers, and taste of his charity.” 

Abdullah was not dissatisfied with these words, and 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


195 


the beggars said much more to the same effect, which 
he regarded as signs of his popularity, so that he 
opened his purse from time to time and threw hand- 
fuls of money into the crowd, not counting the cost 
since he expected to be master of all the treasure in 
Riad within a few days. But the beggars were disap- 
pointed, for they had hoped that he would turn out 
to be avaricious, and endeavour to elude them by walk- 
ing through narrow and lonely streets, where they 
might catch him. So they pressed more and more 
upon him every day, trying to exhaust his patience 
and his charity. In this however they failed, not 
understanding that the vanity of such a man is inex- 
haustible and knows no price. Abdullah, too, chose 
rather to be abroad during the daytime than in the 
evening or the early morning, for he desired to be 
seen by the multitude and spoken of as he went 
through the market-place. Yet on the last evening of 
all he fell into the hands of the Sheikh of the beggars, 
and evil befell him. 

The hour of prayer was passed and it was almost 
the time when lights are extinguished. Then Abdullah 
took his sword under his aba, and also a good knife, 
which he had proved in battle, and which in his hand 
would pierce a coat of mail as though it were silk. 
Almasta, his wife, also made a bundle of woman’s 
clothing and carried it in her arms. For they in- 
tended to go to a lonely place by the city wall, that 
Abdullah might there put on female garments, before 
entering the palace. He feared, indeed, lest if it were 


196 


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afterwards known by what disguise he had accom- 
plished his purpose, he might receive some name in 
derision, from which he should never escape so long 
as he lived. Yet he had no choice but to dress as 
a woman, since he could not otherwise by any means 
have gone into the harem. 

As he came out of his house, accompanied only by 
Almasta, he was seen at once by the two beggars who 
were always on the watch. And then, wishing to warn 
their companions, of whom many were lying asleep 
upon doorsteps in the same street and in others close 
by, these two made haste to get up, pretending to be 
lame and making a great clatter with their staves, as 
they limped after Abdullah. Then he, who loved to 
exercise charity in the market-place, but not in the 
dark where none could applaud him, made a pretence 
of not seeing the poor men, and went swiftly on with 
Almasta running by his side. But as he walked fast, 
the two beggars although apparently lame increased 
their speed with his, and their clatter also. 

“ Does a sound man need a horse to escape from 
cripples?” asked Abdullah. And he turned quickly 
into a narrow lane. 

“ It will be wiser to scatter a few coins to them,” 
said Almasta. “ They will then stop and search for 
them in the dark. For these men are very importu- 
nate and will certainly hinder us.” 

But Abdullah was confident in his legs as a strong 
man and only walked the faster, so that Almasta could 
with great difficulty keep beside him. Then they 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


197 


heard the beggars running after them in the dark and 
calling upon them. 

“ O Abdullah I ” they cried. “ The light of your 
charitable countenance goes before us like a lantern, 
and illuminates the whole street ! Be merciful and 
give us a small coin, and Allah will reward you ! ” 

Then Abdullah stopped in the darkest part of the 
narrow lane, seeing that they had recognised him, and 
conceiving that it would be a reproach for a sheikh of 
pure blood to run from beggars ; and he feared also 
that it would be remembered against him on the mor- 
row. He therefore made a pretence of being diverted, 
and laughed. 

“Surely,” he said, “the lame men of Riad could 
outrun in a race the sound men of any other city. 
And, by Allah, I have little money with me, for I was 
going to a friend’s house to receive a sum due to me 
for certain mares ; yet I will give you what I have, 
and, I pray you, go in peace.” 

Thereupon he sought in his wallet for something to 
give them, and while he was seeking they began to 
praise him after their manner. 

“ See this Abdullah ! ” they said. “ He is the father 
of the poor and distressed, and is ever ready to divide 
all he has with us. Yallah ! Bless him exceedingly ! 
Yallah ! Increase his family ! ” 

But when Abdullah had found the money and was 
putting it into their hands, he was suddenly aware that 
instead of two beggars there were now ten or more, and 
these again multiplied in an extraordinary manner, so 


198 


KHALED 


that he felt himself hemmed in on every side in a close 
press. 

“ O Allah ! ” he exclaimed. “ Thou art witness that 
unless these small coins are multiplied a hundredfold, 
as the basket of dates by the Prophet at the trench 
before Medina, I shall have nothing to give these 
worthy persons.” 

By this time the blind Sheikh of the beggars was 
present, and he pushed forward, pretending to rebuke 
his companions. 

“ O you greedy ones I ” he cried. “ How often have 
I told you not to be so importunate ? Yet you crowd 
upon him like wasps upon a date, presuming upon the 
goodness of his heart, and when there is no more room 
you crowd upon each other. Forgive them, O Ab- 
dullah ! ” he said, addressing him directly, “ for they 
have the appetites of jackals together with the under- 
standing of little children. They would thrust into 
the dish a hand as small as a crow’s foot and with- 
draw it looking as big as a camel’s hoof. Their 
manners are also ” 

“ My friend,” said Abdullah, “ I have given what I 
can. Let me therefore pass on, for my business is of 
importance, yet the throng is so great that I cannot 
move a step. To-morrow I will distribute much alms 
to you all.” 

“ The radiance of your merciful countenance is 
enough for us,” replied the Sheikh of the beggars, 
“and even I who am blind am comforted by its rays 
as by those of the sun in spring, and my hunger 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


199 


is appeased by the honey of your incomparable 
eloquence ” 

“ My friend,” said Abdullah, interrupting him again, 
“ I pray you to let me go forward now, for I have a 
very important matter in hand, though it is with 
difficulty that I tear myself away from your society, 
and I would willingly listen much longer to the words 
of the wise.” 

Then the blind man turned to the other beggars, 
and his hearing told him that by this time there were 
at least threescore in the street. 

“ Come, my brothers ! ” he cried. “ Let us accom- 
pany our benefactor to the house of his friend, and 
afterwards we will wait for him and see that he 
reaches his own dwelling in safety. Surely it is not 
fitting that a sheikh of such great consideration 
should go about the streets at night without so much as 
an attendant carrying a lantern. Let us go with him.” 

Now these last words were the signal agreed upon, 
and even as Abdullah began to protest that he desired 
no such honourable escort as the beggars offered him, 
one came from behind and suddenly drew a thick 
barley-sack over his head, so that his voice was heard 
no more, and he was dragged down by the throat, 
while the one-eyed hunchback caught him by the legs 
and bound his feet and four others laid hold of his 
hands and tied them firmly behind him. Nor had 
Almasta time to utter a single cry before she was 
bound hand and foot with her head in a sack, like her 
husband. Then at a signal the beggars took up the 


200 


KHALED 


two as though they had been bales packed ready for a 
camel’s back, and carried them away swiftly into the 
darkness, towards the eastern gate, where the blind 
man lived in a ruined house together with three or 
four of his most trusted companions. He also sent a 
messenger to his relation, the Bedouin, as had been 
agreed. It was already quite dark in the streets and 
the few persons who met the beggars did not see what 
they were carrying, nor ask questions of them, merely 
supposing that they had lingered long in the public 
square after evening prayers and were now returning 
in a body to their own quarter. 

The blind man’s house was built of three rooms and 
a wall, standing in a square around a small court. But 
only one of the rooms had a roof of its own, though 
there was a sort of cellar under the floor of one of the 
others which served at once as a lodging for beggars in 
winter, as a storehouse for food when there was any in 
supply and as a place of deposit for the ancient iron 
chest in which the common fund of money was kept. 
To this vault the Sheikh of the beggars made his com- 
panions bring the two prisoners, and having set them 
on the floor, side by side, he proceeded to hold a coun- 
cil, in which the captives themselves had no part, since 
their heads were tied up in dusty barley-sacks, and they 
could not speak so as to be heard. 

“ O my brothers ! ” said the blind man. “ Allah has 
delivered the enemies of the kingdom into our hand, 
and it is necessary to decide what we will do with 
them. Let the oldest and the wisest give their opin- 


A TALE OF AKABIA 


201 


ions first, and after them the others, even to the young- 
est, and last of all I will speak, and let us see whether 
we can agree.” 

“ Let us kill the man and bury him, and then cast 
lots among us for the woman,” said one. 

“No,” said the next, a man who had twice made the 
pilgrimage, and was much respected, “we cannot do 
this, for the man is a true believer, and evil will befall 
us if we shed his blood. Let us rather keep him here, 
and purify his hide every day with our staves, until 
Khaled is in no more danger, and then we will take 
him to the palace and deliver him up.” 

“ It is to be feared,” said the Sheikh of the beggars, 
“ that the man might chance to die of this sort of puri- 
fication, though indeed it be very wholesome for him, 
and I am not altogether against it.” 

“ Let us make him our slave,” said a third, who had 
himself been the slave of a poor man who had died 
without heirs. “The fellow is strong. Let us buy 
millstones and make him grind barley for us in this 
cellar. In this way he will not eat our food for 
nothing.” 

After this many others gave advice of the same kind. 
But while they were talking, there was a great clatter- 
ing and noise upon the stone steps which led down into 
the cellar, and a man fell over the last step and rolled 
over and over into the very midst of the council, 
railing and lamenting. 

“It is that ass of Egypt,” said the Sheikh of the 
beggars. “ I know him by the clattering of the wooden 


202 


KHALED 


hoofs he wears on his hands, and also by his braying. 
Let him also give his opinion when he is recovered 
from his fall.” 

“It is strange and marvellous,” said one, “that he 
who has no legs should suffer so many falls, being, by 
the will of Allah, always upon the earth. For when 
we first saw him we found him fainting upon the 
ground, having fallen from the wall of a garden, 
though no man could tell how he had climbed upon it.” 

“ I had been transported to the top of the wall as in 
a dream,” replied the cripple, “ for there were dates in 
that garden. But having eaten too greedily of them I 
fell asleep on the top and I dreamed that my body was 
torn by hyaenas ; and waking suddenly I fell down. For 
the dates were yet green.” 

“ This may or may not be true,” said the blind man. 
“For you are an Egyptian. Let us, however, hear 
what you have to advise in the matter of Abdullah and 
his wife, whom we have taken prisoners.” 

“ I fear that you mock me, O my lord,” answered the 
man. “But if I am mocked, I will advise that this 
Abdullah be also made a sport of, for us first, and for 
the people of Riad afterwards.” 

“ Tell us how this may be done, for a good jest is 
better than salt for roasting, and the sheep lie here 
bound before us.” 

“ Take this man, then,” said the cripple, “ and un- 
cover his face, and hold him fast. Then let one of us 
get the razor and shave off all his beard and his eye- 
brows, and the hair of his head even to the nape of his 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


203 


neck. Then if he came suddenly before her who bore 
him and cried, ‘ Mother,’ she would cover her face and 
answer, ‘ Begone, thou ostrich’s egg ! ’ For she would 
not know him. And to-morrow we will take his excel- 
lent clothes from him and put them upon our Sheikh. 
But we will dress Abdullah in rags such as would not 
serve to wipe the mud from a slave’s shoes in the time 
of the subsiding waters, and we will tie his hands under 
his arm -pits and put a halter over his head and lead 
him about the city. Then he will cry out against us 
to the people, saying that he is Abdullah, but we will 
also cry out in answer : ‘ See this madman, who believes 
himself to be a sheikh of Bedouins though Allah has 
given him no beard ! O people of Riad, you may know 
that the spring is come, by the braying of this ass.’ ” 

“Yet I see now that there may be wisdom in bray- 
ings^” said the Sheikh of the beggars, “ though Balaam 
ibn Beor shut his ears against it, and was punished for 
his cursing so that his tongue hung down to his breast, 
all his days, like that of a thirsty dog. This is good 
counsel, for in this way we shall not shed the man’s 
blood, nor render ourselves guilty of his death ; but I 
think we shall earn a great reward from Khaled, and 
his kingdom will be saved in laughter.” 

During all this time Abdullah had not moved, know- 
ing that he was in the power of many enemies and 
beyond all reach of help, but when he heard the 
decision of the Sheikh of the beggars he was filled 
with shame and rolled himself from side to side upon 
the floor, as though trying to escape from the bonds 


204 


KHALED 


that held him. Almasta, for her part, lay quietly 
where they had put her, for she saw that all chance 
of success was gone and was pondering how she might 
take advantage of what happened, to save herself. 

Then the beggars laid hold of Abdullah and held 
him, while others took the sack from his head. He 
was indeed half smothered with dust, so that at first 
he could not speak aloud, but coughed and sneezed 
like a dog that has thrust its nose into a dust-heap 
to find the bone which is hidden underneath. But 
presently he recovered his breath and began to rail 
at them and curse them. To this they paid no 
attention, but brought the oil lamp near him, and 
one began to rub soap upon his face and head while 
another got the razor with ‘which the beggars shaved 
their heads and began to whet it ux)on his leathern 
girdle. 

“ Do not waste the precious stones of your eloquence 
upon a barber,” said the Sheikh of the beggars, “but 
reserve your breath and the rich treasures of your 
speech until you are brought as a plucked bird before 
the people of Riad. Moreover we only wish to shave 
off your beard, but if you are restless some of your 
hide will certainly be removed also, whereby you will 
be hurt and it will be still harder for your friends to 
recognise you to-morrow. It is also useless to shou^ 
and scream as though you were driving camels, for 
you are in the cellar of my house, which is at a good 
distance from other habitations, on the borders of 
the city.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


205 


So Abdullah saw that there was no escape, and that 
his fate was about his neck, and he sat still as they 
had placed him, while the one-eyed hunchback shaved 
off his beard and the hair on his upper lip and his 
eyebrows, and the lock at the back of his head. 

When this was done the blind man put out his 
hand and felt Abdullah’s face. 

“ Surely,” he said, “ this is not a man’s head, but 
the round end of a walking-staff, rubbed smooth by 
much use.” 

They also tied his hands under his arm-pits and 
put upon him a ragged shirt with sleeves so that he 
seemed to have lost both arms at the elbow. 

“ This is very well done,” said the hunchback turn- 
ing his head from side to side in order to see all with 
his one eye. “But what shall we do with the woman? 
Let us cast lots for her, and he who wins her shall 
marry her, and we will hold the feast immediately, 
for we have not yet supped and there is some of the 
camel’s meat which we received to-day at the palace.” 

“ O my brothers,” answered the Sheikh of the 
beggars, “let us do nothing unlawful in our haste. 
For this woman is certainly one of Abdullah’s wives, 
as you may see by her clothes, and unless he divorces 
her none of us can take her for ourselves, seeing that 
she is the wife of a believer. Take the sack from her 
head, however, and if she deafens us with her scream- 
ing we can put it on again. But you must by no 
means put her to shame by taking the veil from her 
face, for she may be an honest wife, though her 


206 


KHALED 


husband be a dog. If she has done well, we shall 
find it out, and no harm will have come to her ; but 
if she is a sharer in this fellow’s plans, her punish- 
ment will be grievous, since she will be the wife of 
an outcast, having neither beard nor eyebrows and 
rejected by all men.” 

Some of the beggars murmured at this, but most 
of them praised their Sheikh’s wisdom, and would 
indeed have feared greatly to break the holy law, 
being chiefly devout men who prayed daily in the 
mosque and listened to the Khotbah on Friday. They 
therefore placed Almasta in one corner of the cellar 
and Abdullah in another, so that the two could not 
converse together, and then they took out such food 
as they had and began to eat their supper, laughing 
and talking over the jest and anticipating the reward 
which awaited them for saving Khaled. 

In the meanwhile the night was advancing and 
many of Abdullah’s friends left their houses secretly 
and gathered in the neighbourhood of the palace to 
wait for the first signal from within. By threes and 
by twos and singly they came out of their dwellings, 
looking to the right and left to see whether they were 
not the first, as men do who are not sure of being in 
the right. All had their swords with them, and some 
their bows also, and some few carried their spears, 
and they made no secret of their bearing weapons ; 
but under each man’s aba was concealed the largest 
barley-sack he could find in his house, and concerning 
this no one of the multitude said anything to his 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


207 


neighbour, for each hoped to get a greater share than 
the others of the gold and precious stones from the 
fabulous treasure stored in the palace. Then most 
of these men sat down to wait, as vultures do before 
the camel is quite dead. But not long after the 
middle of the night they were joined by a great 
throng of Bedouins from Abdullah’s tribe. These 
had been admitted into the city by the watchman 
according to the agreement, and passed up the great 
street from the Hasa gate, in a close body, not 
speaking and making but little noise with their feet 
as they walked ; yet all of them together could be 
heard from a distance, because they were so many, 
and the sound was like the night wind among the 
branches of dry palm trees. After them, other Bed- 
ouins came in from camps both near and far, some of 
them having made half a day’s journey since sunset ; 
and they surrounded the palace on all sides, and filled 
the great street, and the street which passes by the 
mosque towards the Dereyiyah gate and all the other 
approaches to the open square, sitting down wherever 
there was room, or leaning against the closed shops 
of the bazaar, or standing up in a thick crowd when 
they were too closely pressed to be at ease. They 
talked together from time to time in low tones, but 
when their voices rose above a whisper some man in 
authority hushed them, saying that the hour was not 
yet come. 

“ By this time Abdullah has slain Khaled,” said some, 
“ and the daughter of the old Sultan is a prisoner.” 


208 


KHALED 


“ And by this time,” said others, “ Abdullah is surely 
unlocking the treasure chamber and filling a barley- 
sack with pearls and rubies. It is certain that he 
who slays the lion deserves his bride, but we hope 
that something will be left for us.” 

“ Hush ! ” said the voice of one moving in the dark- 
ness. “ Be patient. It is not yet time.” 

Then, for a space, a deep silence fell on the speakers 
and they crouched in their places watching the high 
black walls of the palace and marking the motion of 
the stars by the highest point of the tower. Before 
long whispered words were heard again. 

“It would have been more just if Abdullah had 
opened the gate to us as soon as he had slain Khaled, 
for then we could have seen what he took. But now, 
who shall tell us what share of the riches he is hiding 
away in the more secret vaults ? ” 

“ This is true,” answered others. “ And besides, 
what need have we of Abdullah to help us into the 
palace ? Surely we could have broken down the gates 
and slain the guards and Khaled himself without 
Abdullah’s help. Yet we, for our part, would not shed 
the blood of a man who has always dealt very gener- 
ously with us, nor do we believe the story of the 
camels laden secretly in Hail. However, what is 
ordained will take place, and we shall undoubtedly 
receive plentiful gold merely for sitting here to watch 
the stars through the night.” 

“The story of the camels is not true,” said a certain 
man, speaking alone. “For I was of the drivers 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


209 


sent with them, and being hungry, we opened one of 
the bales on the way. By Allah ! There was nothing 
but wheat in it, and it was white and good ; but 
there was nothing else, not so much as a few small 
coins ” 

Then there was the sound of a blow, and the man 
who was speaking was struck on the mouth, so that 
his speech was interrupted. 

“ Peace and be silent ! ” said a voice. “ They who 
speak lies will receive no share with the rest when the 
time comes.” 

But the man who had been struck was the strongest 
of all his tribe, though he who had struck him 
did not know it. And the man caught his assailant 
by the waist in the dark, and wrestled with him 
violently, being very angry, and broke his forearm and 
his collar-bone and several of his ribs, and when he 
had done with him, he threw him over his shoulder so 
that he fell fainting and moaning three paces away. 

“ O you who strike honest men on the mouth in 
the dark, you have been over-rash ! ” he cried. “ Go 
home and hide yourself lest I recognise you and break 
such bones as you have still whole ! ” 

“ This is well done,” said one of the bystanders, in a 
loud voice. “ For the story of the camels laden secretly 
with treasure is a lie. I also was with the drivers 
and ate of the wheat. Nor do I believe that Khaled 
is a robber and a Persian.” 

“We do not believe it!” cried a score of Bedouins 
together. “ And if we have come here, it is to get our 


210 


KHALED 


share like other men, since they tell us that Khaled is 
dead. But now we believe that Abdullah has shut 
himself into the palace and means to keep all for him- 
self, and is cheating us.” 

These men were none of them of Abdullah’s tribe, 
but as the voices grew louder, Abdullah’s kinsmen 
came up, and endeavoured to quiet the growing tumult. 
The crowd had parted a little and the strong man 
stood alone in the midst. 

“We pray you to be patient,” said Abdullah’s men, 
“ for the time is at hand and the false dawm has already 
passed, though you have not seen it, so that before 
long it will be day. Then the gates will be opened 
and you shall all go in.” 

“We have no need of your sheikh to open gates for 
us,” said the strong man, in a voice that could be heard 
very far through the crowd. “ And moreover it will be 
better for you not to strike any more of us, or, by Allah, 
we will not only break your bones but shed your blood.” 

At this there was a sullen cry, and men sprang to 
their feet and laid their hands upon their weapons. 
But a youth who had come up with Abdullah’s kins- 
men, though not one of them, bent very low over the 
man who had been thrown down and then spoke out 
with a loud and laughing voice. 

“Truly they say that crows lead people to the car- 
cases of dogs ! ” he said. “ This fellow is of the family 
which murdered my father, upon whom may Allah send 
peace ! Nor will I exceed the bounds of moderation 
and justice.” 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


211 


Thereupon the young man drew out his knife and 
immediately killed his father’s enemy as he lay upon 
the ground, and then he withdrew quickly into the dark 
crowd so that none knew him. But though there was 
only the light of the stars and the multitude was great, 
many had seen the deed and each man stood closer by 
his neighbour and grasped his weapon to be in readi- 
ness. The kinsmen of Abdullah saw that they were 
separated from their own tribe and drew back, warning 
the others to keep the peace and be silent, lest they 
should be cut off from their share of the spoil. But 
their voices trembled with fears for their own safety, 
and they were answered by scornful shouts and jeers. 

“ The young man says well that you are crows,” cried 
the angry men, “ for you wish to keep the carcase for 
yourselves. Come and take it if you are able ! ” 

Now indeed the quarrel which had been begun by 
the blow struck in the dark spread suddenly to great 
dimensions, for the words spoken were caught up as 
grains of sand by the wind and blown into all men’s 
ears. Many were ready enough to believe that Ab- 
dullah cared only for enriching himself and his tribe, 
and many more who had been persuaded to the enter- 
prise by the hope of gain turned again to their faith in 
Khaled as the dream of gold disappeared from their eyes. 
Yet Abdullah’s tribe was numerous, and it was easy to 
see that if the dissension grew into a strife of arms the 
fight would be long and fierce on both sides. 

Then certain of those who were against Abdullah 
raised the cry that he had slain Khaled and escaped 


212 


KHALED 


with the treasure by a secret passage leading under the 
walls of the city, which passage was spoken of in old 
tales, though no one knew where to find it. But the 
multitude believed and pressed forward in a strong 
body and began to beat against the iron-bound gate of 
the palace with great stones and pieces of wood. Ab- 
dullah’s men came on fiercely to prevent them, but 
were opposed by many, and as the wing of night was 
lifted and the dawn drank the stars, the wide square 
was filled with the clashing of arms and the noise of a 
terrible tumult. 


CHAPTER XII 


At the time when the beggars were carrying away 
Abdullah and his wife, Khaled was sitting in his accus- 
tomed place, silent and heavy at heart, and Zehowah 
played softly to him upon a barbat and sang a sad song 
in a low voice. For she saw that gloominess had over- 
come him and she feared to disturb his mood, though 
she would gladly have made him smile if she had been 
able. 

A black slave of Khaled’s whom he had treated with 
great kindness had secretly told him that there was a 
plan to enter the palace with evil during that night, 
for the fellow had spied upon those who knew and had 
overheard what he now told his master. He had also 
asked whether he should not warn the guards of the 
palace, in order that a strict watch should be kept, but 
Khaled had bidden him be silent. 

“Either the guards are conspiring with the rest,” 
said Khaled, “ and will be the first to attack me, or 
they are ignorant of the plan ; and if so how can they 
withstand so great a multitude? I will abide by my 
own fate, and no man shall lose his life for my sake 
unless he desires to do so.” 

But he privately put on a coat of mail under his aba, 
and when he sat down in the harem to await the end he 
213 


214 


KHALED 


would not let Zehowah take his sword, but laid it upon 
his feet and sat upright against the wall, looking 
towards the door. 

“ Since I have no soul,” he said to himself, “ this is 
probably the end of all things. But there is no reason 
why I should not kill as many of these murderers as 
possible.” 

He was gloomy and desponding, however, since he 
saw that his hour was at hand, and that Zehowah was 
no nearer to loving him than before. He watched her 
fingers as she played upon the instrument, and he 
listened to the soft notes of her voice. 

“It is a strange thing,” he thought, “and I believe 
that she is not able to love, any more than my sword 
upon my feet, which is good and true and beautiful, 
and ever ready to my hand, but is itself cold, having no 
feeling in it.” 

Still Zehowah sang and Khaled heard her song, listen- 
ing watchfully for a man’s tread upon the threshold 
and looking to see a man’s face and the light of steel in 
the shadow beyond the lamps. 

“ The night is long,” he said at last, aloud. 

“ It is not yet midnight,” Zehowah answered. “ But 
you are tired. Will you not go to rest? ” 

“I shall rest to-morrow,” said Khaled. “To-night 
I will sit here and look at you, if you will sing to 
me.” 

Zehowah gazed into his eyes, wondering a little at 
his exceeding sadness. Then she bowed her head and 
struck the strings of the instrument to a new measure 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


215 


more melancholy than the last, and sang an old song of 
many verses, with a weeping refrain. 

“Are you also heavy at heart to-night?” Khaled 
asked, when he had listened to the end. 

“ It is not easy to kindle a lamp when the rain is fall- 
ing heavily,” Zehowah said. “ Your sadness has taken 
hold of me, like the chill of a fever. I cannot laugh 
to-night.” 

“And yet you have a good cause, for they say that 
to-night the earth is to be delivered of a great male- 
factor, a certain Persian, whose name is perhaps Hassan, 
a notorious robber.” 

Khaled turned away his head, smiling bitterly, for he 
desired not to see the satisfaction which would come 
into her face. 

“ This is a poor jest,” she answered in a low voice, 
and the barbat rolled from her knees to the carpet 
beside her. 

“ I mean no jesting, for I do not desire to disappoint 
you, since you will naturally be glad to be freed from 
me. But I am glad if you are willing to sing to me, 
for this night is very long.” 

“ Do you think that I believe this of you ? ” asked 
Zehowah, after some time. 

“ You believed it yesterday, you believe it to-day, and 
you will believe it to-morrow when you are free to make 
choice of some other man — whom you will doubtless 
love.” 

“Yet I know that it is not true,” she said suddenly. 

“It is too late,” Khaled answered. “The more I 


216 


KHALED 


love you, the more I see how little faith you have in 
me — and the less faith can I put in you. Will you 
sing to me again ? ” 

“This is very cruel and bitter.” Zehowah sighed 
and looked at him. 

“ Will you sing to me again, Zehowah? ” he repeated. 
“ I like your sad music.” 

Then she took up the barbat from the carpet, but 
though she struck a chord she could not go on and her 
hand lay idle upon the strings, and her voice was still. 

“ You are perhaps tired,” said Khaled, after some 
time. “Then lay aside the instrument and sleep.” 
He composed himself in his seat, his sword being ready 
and his eyes towards the door. 

But Zehowah shook her head as though awaking 
from a dream, her fingers ran swiftly over the strings 
and gentle tones came from her lips. Khaled listened 
thoughtfully to the song and the words soothed him, 
but before she had reached the end, she stopped 
suddenly. 

“ Why do you not finish it ? ” he asked. 

“ If you have told me truth,” she answered, “ this 
is no time for singing and music. But if not, why 
should I labour to amuse you, as though I were a slave ? 
I will call one of the women who has a sweet voice and 
a good memory. She will sing you a kasid which will 
last till morning.” 

“You are wrong,” said Khaled. “There is no reason 
in what you say.” 

But he reflected upon her nature, while he spoke. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


217 


“ Surely,” he thought, there is nothing in the world 
so contradictory as a woman. I ask of her a song and 
she is silent. 1 bid her rest, supposing her to 'he 
weary, and she sings to me. If I tell her that I hate 
her she will perhaps answer that she loves me. Min 
Allah ! Let us see.” 

“You inspire hatred in me,” he said aloud, after a 
few moments. 

At this Zehowah was very much astonished, and she 
again let the barbat fall from her knees. 

“ You wished me to believe that you loved me, and 
this not long since,” she answered. 

“ It may be so. I did not know you then.” 

He looked towards the door as though he would 
say nothing further. Zehowah sighed, not understand- 
ing him, yet being wounded in that sensitive tissue of 
the heart which divides the outer desert of pride from 
the inner garden of love, belonging to neither but 
separating the two as a veil. And when there is a 
rent in that veil, pride looks on love and scoffs bitterly, 
and love looks on pride and weeps tears of fire. 

“ I am sorry that you hate me,” she said, but the 
words were bitter in her mouth as a draught from a 
spring into which the enemy have cast wormwood, that 
none may drink of it. 

“ Allah is great ! ” thought Khaled. “ This is already 
an advantage.”' 

Then Zehowah took up the barbat and began to sing 
a careless song, not like any which Khaled had ever 
heard. This is the song — 


218 


KHALED 


“ The fisherman of Oman tied the halter under his arms, 

The sky was as blue as the sea in winter. 

The fisherman dived into the deep waters 

As a ray of light shoots through a sapphire of price. 

The sea was as blue as the sky, for it was winter. 

Among the rocks below the water it was dark and cold 
Though the sky above was as blue as a fine sapphire. 

The fisherman saw a rough shell lying there in the dark between 
two crabs, 

‘ In that shell there must be a large pearl,’ he said. 

But when he would have taken it the crabs ran together and 
fastened upon his hand. 

His heart was bursting in his ribs for lack of breath 

And he thought of the sky above, as blue as the sea in winter. 

So he pulled the halter and was taken half-fainting into the boat. 
The crabs held his hand but he struck them off. 

And his heart beat merrily as he breathed the wind 
Blowing over the sea as blue as the sky in winter. 

‘ There are no pearls in this ocean,’ he said to his companions, 

‘ But there are crabs if any one cares to dive.’ 

One of them saw the sliell caught between the legs of the crabs. 
He opened it and found a pearl of the value of a kingdom. 

‘ The pearl is mine, but you may eat the crabs,’ he said to the 
fisherman. 

‘ Since you say there are no pearls in this ocean. 

Which is as blue as the sky in winter.’ 

Then the fisherman smote him and tried to take the pearl. 

But as they strove it fell into the deep water and sank. 

Where the sea was as blue as the sky in winter. 

‘ I will drown you with a heavy weight,’ said the fisherman, ‘ for 
you have robbed me of my fortune.’ 

‘ I have not robbed you, O brother, for the pearl is again where 
you found it. 

In the sea which is as blue as the sky in winter.’ 

Then the fisherman dived again many times in vain 
Till the drums of his ears were broken and his heart was dis- 
solved for lack of breath. 

But the pearl is still there, at the bottom of the sea. 


A TALE OF AKABIA 


219 


And the sea is as blue as the sky in winter. 

This is the kasid of the fisherman of Oman 
Which Zehowah Bint ul Mahomed el Hamid 
Has made and sung for her lord, Khaled the Sultan. 

May Allah send him long life and many such hearts 

As the one which fell into the ocean 

When the sky was as blue as the sea in winter.” 

“ This is a new song,” said Khaled, when she had 
finished. 

“Is it? I made it many months ago,” Zehowah 
answered. “ Does it please you ? ” 

“It is not very melodious, nor do I think there is 
much truth in the matter of it. But I thank you, for 
it has served to pass the time.” 

Zehowah laughed a little scornfully. 

“ I daresay you would prefer the song of a Persian 
nightingale,” she said. “ Nevertheless my song is full 
of truth, though you cannot see it. There are many 
who seek for things of great value and do not know 
when they have found them because a crab has bitten 
their hands.” 

“Verily,” thought Khaled, “this is indeed the spirit 
of contradiction.” 

But he was silent for a time, not wishing that she 
should think him easily moved. In the meantime 
Zehowah played softly upon the little instrument and 
Khaled watched her, wondering whether she were not 
playing upon the strings of his heart, for her own 
pleasure, as skilfully as her fingers ran upon the chords 
of the barbat. Many words rose to his lips then, and 
he wished that he also had the science of music that 


220 


KHALED 


he might sing sweetly to her. Then he laughed aloud 
at his own imagination, which was indeed that of a 
foolish youth. 

“The lion roaring for a sweetmeat,” he thought, 
“and the sword-hand aching to scratch little tunes 
upon a lute ! ” 

Zehowah turned suddenly when he laughed, and 
ceased from playing. 

“ I am glad that you are merry,” she said. “ I like 
laughter better than reproaches and prefer it to gloomy 
forebodings of evil when none is at hand.” 

Khaled’s face grew dark, and he looked again towards 
the door. 

“ If you will stay with me, you shall see that evil is 
not far off,” he answered, for she had reminded him of 
what he was expecting, and he knew that it was no 
jesting matter. “ But you shall please yourself in this 
as in all other matters, though it were better for you to 
go now and shut yourself up in an inner room and wait 
for the end. The night is advancing, and all will soon 
be over.” 

“Hear me, Khaled,” said Zehowah, speaking ear- 
nestly. “ If you bid me go, I will go, or if you desire 
me to stay, I will remain with you. But if you are 
indeed in danger, as you say, let us call up the guards 
and the watchmen who sleep in the palace, that they 
may stand by you with their swords and help you to 
fight if there is to be strife.” 

“I will have no treacherous fellows about me,” Kha- 
led answered, “ and there are none here whom I can 


A TALE OF AKABIA 


221 


trust. My hour is coming and I will fight this fight 
alone. But if you were such as I once hoped, I would 
say ; ‘ Remain with me, so long as you are safe.’ Now, 
since Allah has willed it thus, I say to you : ‘ Go and 
seek safety where you can find it.’ Go, therefore, 
Zehowah, and leave me alone, for I need no one beside 
me, and you least of all.” 

He turned away his head, lest she should see his face, 
and with his hand made a gesture bidding her to leave 
him. She rose from her seat softly and hung the bar- 
bat upon the wall with the other musical instruments, 
looking over her shoulder to see whether he would call 
her back. But he neither moved nor spoke, being 
resolved to venture all upon this trial, for he knew 
that if she loved him even but a little, she would not 
leave him alone in the extremity of danger. 

Then she went towards the door of the room, turn- 
ing her head to look at him as she passed near him. 

“ Farewell,” she said. But he did not answer nor 
show that he heard her voice. 

As she lifted the curtain to go out, she lingered and 
gazed at him. He sat motionless upon the carpet, 
upright against the wall, his sword lying across his 
feet, his hands hidden under his sleeves, looking 
towards her indeed but not seeming to see her. 

“ There can be no real danger,” she thought. 
“ Could any man sit thus, expecting death, and refus- 
ing to let any one stand by him to fight with him? 
Surely, he is playing with me, and setting a trap for 
me. But he shall not catch me.” 


222 


KHALED 


She turned to go and the curtain was falling behind 
her when the night wind from the open passage 
brought a sound to her ears from a far distance. She 
started and listened, as camels do when they hear the 
first moving of the hot wind. There were no voices in 
the noise, wljich was low and dull, like the breathing 
of a great multitude and the soft moving of feet, and 
altogether it was as the slow rising and falling back of 
the sea upon the shores of Oman, when the great sum- 
mer storm is coming from the south-west. 

Zehowah stood still a moment and drank in every 
murmur that reached her from without. Then her face 
grew white and her lips trembled when she thought of 
Khaled sitting alone on the other side of the curtain, 
with his sword upon his feet, waiting for the end. She 
lifted the hanging a little and looked at him again. 
He saw her, but made no sign. Even as she looked, 
the distant murmur grew louder and she fancied that 
he moved his head as though he heard it. Then she 
entered the room and came and stood before him. 

“ There is a great multitude in the square before the 
palace,” she said. 

“ I know it,” he answered, calmly looking up to her 
face. “ It needed not that you should tell me.” 

“Will you not let me stay with you now?” asked 
Zehowah. 

“ Why should you stay here ? ” he asked with a pre- 
tence of indifference. “ Of what use are you to me ? 
Take this sword. Can you strike with it? Your 
wrist is feeble. Or take a bow from the weapons on 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


223 


the wall. Can you draAV the string? Your strength 
is sufficient for the lute, and your skill for scratching 
the strings of the barbat. Go and save yourself. I 
am alone and every man’s hand is against me.” 

Zehowah stood still in the room and hesitated, look- 
ing into his eyes for something which she all at once 
desired with a hot thirst. At last she spoke in an 
uncertain voice. 

“Yet you said not long since that if I were such as 
you once hoped, you would bid me remain.” 

“I do not care,” he answered. “Yet for your own 
sake, I advise you to go away.” 

“ For my own sake ! ” she repeated, trying to speak 
scornfully, and turning to go a second time. 

But she did not reach the door. She stood still 
before the weapons which hung upon the wall, and 
paused a moment and then took a sword from its place. 
Khaled watched her. She grasped the hilt as well as 
she could and swung the weapon in the air once with 
all her might. Then she uttered a little cry of pain, 
for she had twisted her wrist. The sword fell to the 
floor. 

“ He is right,” she said in a low tone, speaking aloud 
to herself. “ I am weak and can be of no use to him.” 

She went on once more towards the door, slowly, her 
head bent down, then stopped and then looked back 
again. She feared that she might see a smile on his 
face, but his eyes were grave and calm. Then he saw 
her turn and lean against the wall as though she were 
suddenly weak. She hid her face, and there was silence 


224 


KHALED 


for a moment, and after that a low sound of weeping 
filled the still room. 

“ Why do you shed tears ? ” Khaled asked presently. 
“ There is no danger for you, I think. If you will go 
and shut yourself in the inner rooms you will be safe.” 

She turned fiercely and their eyes met. 

“ What do I care for myself ? ” she cried. “ Among 
so many deaths there is surely one for me ! ” 

Even as she spoke Khaled felt a cool breath upon his 
forehead, stirring the stillness. He knew that it came 
from the beating of an angel’s wings. All his body 
trembled, his head fell forward a little and his eyes 
closed. 

“ This is death,” he thought, “ and my fate has come. 
A little longer, and she would have loved me.” But 
he did not speak aloud. 

Again Zehowah’s face was turned toward the wall, 
and still the sound of her weeping filled the air, not 
subsiding and dying away, but rather increasing with 
every moment. 

“Life is not yet gone,” said Khaled in his heart. 
“ There is yet hope.” For he no longer felt the cold 
breath on his forehead, and the trembling had ceased 
for a moment. 

He tried to speak aloud, but his lips could not form 
words nor his throat utter sounds, and he was amazed 
at his weakness. A great despair came upon him and his 
eyes were darkened so that he could not see the lights. 

“ If only I could speak to her now, she might love 
me yet ! ” he thought. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


225 


The distant murmur from without was louder now 
and reached the room, and he heard it. He tried with 
all his might to raise his hand, to lift his head, to speak 
a single word. 

“It may be that this is the nature of death,” he 
thought again, “and I am already dead.” 

The noise from the multitude came louder and 
louder. Zehowah heard it and her breath was caught 
in her throat. She looked up and saw that the high 
window of the chamber was no longer quite dark. 
The day was dawning. Then pressing her bosom with 
her hands she looked again at Khaled. His head was 
bent upon his breast and he was so still that she 
thought he had fallen asleep. A cry broke from her 
lips. 

“ He cares not ! ” she exclaimed. “ What is it to him, 
whether I go, or stay ? ” 

Again Khaled felt the cool breeze in the room, fan- 
ning his forehead, and once more his limbs trembled. 
Then he felt that his strength was returning and that 
he could move. He raised his head and looked at 
Zehowah, and just then there was a distant crashing 
roar, as the Bedouins began to strike upon t)ie gates. 

“It is time,” he said, and taking his sword in his 
hand he rose from his seat. 

Zehowah came towards him with outstretched hands, 
wet cheeks, and burning eyes. She stood before him as 
though to bar the way, and hinder him from going out. 

“ What is it to you, whether I go, or stay ? ” he 
asked, repeating her own words. 

Q 


226 


KHALED 


“What is it? By Allah, it is all my life — I will 
not let you go ! ” And she took hold of his wrists 
with her weak woman’s hands, and tried to thrust him 
back. 

“Go, Zehowah,” he answered, gently pressing her 
from him. “ Go now, and let me meet them alone, 
knowing that you are safe. For though this be pity 
which you feel, I know it is nothing more.” 

He would have passed by her, but still she held him 
and kept before him. 

“You shall not go ! ” she cried. “1 will prevent 
you with my body. Pity, you say ? Oh, Khaled ! Is 
pity fierce ? Is pity strong ? Does pity burn like fire ? 
You shall not go, I say ! ” 

Then her hands grew cold upon his wrists, her 
cheeks burned and in her eyes there was a deep and 
gleaming light. All this Khaled felt and saw, while 
he heard the raging of the multitude without. His 
sight grew again uncertain. A third time the cool 
breath blew in his face. 

“Yet it cannot be love,” he said uncertainly. Yet 
she heard him. 

“Not love? Khaled, Khaled — my life, my breath, 
my soul — breath of my life, life of my spirit — oh, 
Khaled, you have never loved as I love you now ! ” 

Her hands let go his wrists and clasped about his 
neck, and her face was hidden upon his slioulder while 
her breath came and went like the gusts of the burning 
storm in summer. 

But as he held her, Khaled looked up and saw that 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


227 


the Angel of Allah was before him, having a smiling 
countenance and bearing in his hand a bright flame 
like the crescent moon. 

“ It is well done, O Khaled,” said the Angel, “ and 
this is thy reward. Allah sends thee this to be thy 
own and to live after thy body, saying that thou hast 
well earned it, for love such as thou hast got now is a 
rare thing, not common with women and least of all 
with wives of kings. And now Allah alone knows 
what thy fate is to be, but thou shalt be judged at the 
end like other men, according to thy deeds, be they 
good or evil. And so receive thy soul and do with it 
as thou wilt.” 

The Angel then held out the flame which was like 
the crescent moon and it immediately took shape and 
became the brighter image of Khaled himself, endowed 
with immortality, and the knowledge of its own good 
and evil. And when Khaled had looked at it flxedly 
for a moment, being overcome with joy, the vision of 
himself disappeared, and he was aware that it had 
entered his own body and taken up its life within him. 

“ Return thanks to Allah, and go thy way to the 
end,” said the Angel, who then unfolded his wings 
and departed to paradise whence he had come. 

But Khaled clasped Zehowah tightly in his arms, 
and looking upwards repeated the first chapter of the 
Koran and also the one hundred and tenth chapter, 
which is entitled Assistance. When he had per- 
formed these inward devotions he turned his gaze 
upon Zehowah and kissed her. 


228 


KHALED 


“ Praise be to Allah,” he said, “ for this and all 
blessings. But now let us defend ourselves if we can, 
my beloved, for I think my enemies are at hand.” 

And so he would have stooped to take up his sword 
which had fallen upon the floor. But still Zehowah 
held him and Avould not let him go. 

“Not yet, Khaled ! ” she cried. “Not yet, soul of 
my soul ! The gates are very strong, and will with- 
stand this battering for some time.” 

“Would you have him whom you love sit still in 
the net until the hunters come to catch him ? ” he 
asked in a tender voice. 

“You said you would wait here,” she pleaded. “If 
we must die, let us die here — our life will be a little 
longer so.” 

“Did I say so? I thought you did not love me 
then, and I would have slain a few only, for my 
own sake, that my blood might not be unavenged. 
But now I will slay them all, for your sake, and 
the bodies of the dead shall be a rampart for 
you.” 

“ Oh, do not go I ” she cried again. “ I know a 
secret passage from the palace, that leads out by the 
wall of the city — come quickly, there is yet time, and 
we shall escape — for Allah will protect us. Surely, 
when I was fainting in your arms I heard an angel’s 
voice — and surely the angel is yet with us, and will 
lighten the way as we go.” 

“ The Angel was indeed here, for he brought me 
the soul that was promised, if you loved me. And 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


229 


now all is changed, for if we live we get the victory, 
and if we die we shall inherit paradise.” 

And Zehowah looked into his eyes and saw the 
living soul flaming within, and she believed him. 

“ If you had always been as you are now, I should 
have always loved you,” she said softly, and stooping 
down she took up his sword and drew it out and put 
it into his hand. ‘‘ I tried to wield one when you were 
not looking,” she said, “ but it hurt my wrist. Come, 
Khaled — let us go together.” 

Then he kissed her once more, and she kissed him, 
and putting one arm about her, he led her swiftly out 
by the passage towards the great gate. It was now 
broad dawn and the light was coming in by the narrow 
windows. 

Zehowah clung to Khaled closely, for the noise of 
the thundering blows was terrible and deafening, and 
the multitude without were shouting to each other and 
calling upon Abdullah to come out, for they supposed 
him to be in the palace. But the guards and soldiers 
within had all hidden themselves though they were 
awake, for there was no one to command them nor 
to lead them, and they dared not open the gate lest 
they themselves should be slain in the first rush of the 
crowd. 

Then Khaled and Zehowah paused for a moment 
near the gate. 

“ It is better that you should go back, my beloved,” 
said Khaled. “ Hear what a multitude of angry men 
are waiting outside.” 


230 


KHALED 


“ I will not leave you — neither in life nor in death,” 
she answered. 

“ Let it be so, then,” said Khaled, “ and I will do my 
best. For a hundred men could not stop the way 
before me now, and I think that of five hundred I 
could slay many.” 

So he went up to the gate, and Zehowah stood a 
little behind him so as to be free of the first sweep of 
his sword. 

“ Abdullah ! ” cried some of the crowd without, while 
battering at the iron-bound doors. “ Abdullah, thou 
son of Mohammed and father of lies, come out to us, 
or we will go to thee ! ” 

“ Abdullah, thou thief, thou Persian, thou cheat, 
come out, and may boiling w'ater be thy portion ! ” 

“ Stand back from the gate, and I will open it to 
you ! ” cried Khaled, in a voice that might have been 
heard across the Red Desert as far as the shores of the 
great ocean. 

“ I, Khaled, will open,” he cried again. 

Then there was a great silence and the people fell 
back a little. 

Khaled drew the bolts and unfastened the locks, 
and opened the gates inward and stood forth alone in 
tlie morning light, his sword in his hand and his soul 
burning in his eyes. 

“ Khaled ! ” cried the first who saw him, and the 
cry was taken up. 

The shout was great, and full of joy and shook the 
earth. For the multitude had grown hot in anger 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


231 


against Abdullah, while they battered at the gates, sup- 
posing that he had slain Khaled. But he himself could 
not at first distinguish whether they were angry or 
glad. 

“ If any man wishes to take my life,” he cried, “ let 
him come and take it.” 

And the sword they all knew in battle, began to make 
a storm of lightning about his head in the morning sun. 

Then the strong man who had wrestled and thrown 
the other before dawn, stood out alone and spoke in a 
loud voice. 

“We will have no Sultan but Khaled ! ” he cried. 
“ Give us Abdullah that we may make trappings for 
our camels from his skin.” 

Then Khaled sheathed his sword and came forward 
from under the gate, and Zehowah stood veiled beside 
him. 

“ Where is this Abdullah ? ” he asked. “ Find him 
if you can, for I would like to speak with him.” 

Then there was silence for a space. But by this 
time Abdullah’s men had fled, for they had already 
been forced back in the crowding, and so soon as they 
saw Khaled standing unhurt under the palace gate, 
they turned quickly and ran for their lives to escape 
from the city, seeing that all was lost. 

“ Where is Abdullah ? ” Khaled asked again. 

And a voice from afar off answered, as though her- 
alding the coming of a great personage. 

“Behold Abdullah, the Sultan of Nejed !” it cried. 

Then the multitude turned angrily, grasping swords 


232 


KHALED 


and spears and breathing curses. But the murmur 
broke suddenly into a shout of laughter louder even 
than the cry of Khaled had been. For a great pro- 
cession had entered the square and the people made 
way for it as it advanced towards the palace. 

First came a score of lepers, singing in hideous 
voices and dancing in the early sun, filthy and loath- 
some to behold. And then came all manner of cripples, 
laughing and chattering, with coloured rags fastened 
to their staves, an army of distorted apes. 

Then, walking alone and feeling his way with his 
staff came the Sheikh of the beggars. And in one 
hand he held the end of a halter, wliich was fastened 
about Abdullah’s head and neck and between his teeth, 
so that he could not cry out. And the blind man 
chanted a kasid which he had composed in the night in 
honour of Abdullah ibn Mohammed el Herir, the vic- 
torious Sultan of Nejed. 

“ Upon whom may Allah send much boiling water,” 
sang the Sheikh of the beggars after each stave. 

And Abdullah, his head and face shaven as bald as 
an ostrich’s egg, was bent by the weight he carried, for 
upon his shoulders rode the cripple whom they called 
the Ass of Egypt, clapping the wooden shoes he used 
on his hands, like cymbals to accompany the song of 
the blind man. And last of all came a veiled woman, 
walking sadly, for she could not escape, being sur- 
rounded and driven on by many scores of beggars, all 
dancing and shouting and crying out mock praises of 
the Sultan Abdullah and his wife. 


A TALE OF ARABIA 


233 


But as the procession moved on the laughter 
increased a hundredfold, until all men’s eyes were 
blind with mirth, and their breasts were bursting and 
aching with so much merriment. 

At last the Sheikh of the beggars stood before 
Khaled holding the halter. And here he made a deep 
obeisance, pulling the halter so that Abdullah nearly 
fell to the ground. 

In the name of the beggars,” he said, “ I present 
to your high majesty the sultan of Nejed, Abdullah 
ibn Mohammed, and his chief minister the Ass of 
Egypt, and moreover the sultan’s wife. May it 
please your high majesty to reward the beggars with 
a few small coins and a little barley, for having 
brought his high majesty, the new sultan, safely to 
the gate of the palace and to the steps of the throne.” 

Thereupon all the beggars, the lepers, the cripples, 
the blind men and those of weak understanding fell 
down together at Khaled’s feet. 


This is the story of Khaled the believing genius, 
which he caused to be written down in letters of gold 
^y the most accomplished scribe in Nejed, that all men 
might remember it. But of what afterwards occurred 
there is nothing told in the scribe’s manuscript. It is 
recounted, however, in the commentaries of one Abd 
ul Latif that Khaled did not cause Abdullah to be 
beheaded, nor in any way hurt, save that he was 
driven out of the city with his wife, where certain 
Bedouins affirmed that he lived for many years with 


234 


KHALED 


her in great destitution. But it is well known that 
after this Zehowah bore Khaled many strong sons, 
whose children and children’s children reigned glori- 
ously for many generations in Nejed. And Khaled 
and Zehowah died full of years on the same day, and 
lie bufied together in a garden without the Hasa gate, 
and the pilgrims from Ajman and the east visit their 
tombs even to the present time. 


THE END 


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